Spunk
by Agent Rain Garcia
Summary: An alternate universe story that has a twenty-year-old British dancing Scully and a forty-year-old movie director Mulder who were brought together by strange circumstances. All he wanted was his big break; all she ever wanted was to dance. What happened after, well, wasn't really in the script.
1. Prologue: Wales

**TITLE:** Spunk (BOOK I)

**AUTHOR:** Rain Garcia Chua (formerly "Agent Rain")

**RATING:** I'm keeping it PG-13 as much as I can.

**KEYWORDS:** A/U

**SPOILERS:** none

**SUMMARY:** All she ever wanted to do was dance. All he really wanted was a break. What happened after, well, wasn't really in the script.

**DISCLAIMER:** Chris Carter and Seasons 8 and 9 made it clear that they were never ours in the first place.

* * *

**PROLOGUE:**

* * *

Milford Haven, Wales  
Great Britain  
8 January 1985  
Tuesday

If it wasn't really fucking bad enough for the bad day she was adjusting to, the weather was not too keen on cooperating, either. The clouds over her were becoming angrier and angrier with each passing second that she was just sitting there in the middle of the damn dirt road, waiting for a cab to hail. The chance that she will get a cab within the next hour is 1 in 5. That was not really alarming, since if she waited at the other dirt road, the chance will be 1 in 10.

Dana Scully, in her frustration, kicked a wayward rock at least eight centimeters from the front of her shoe, then sat back down on the dusty road. She glanced at her wristwatch and sighed; she had been standing at that exact position for two hours, seventeen minutes, and eight seconds. One more second and she would start walking until she reached the airport. That was roughly more than a hundred freaking miles.

She rolled her eyes. _Piece of cake._

Scully removed the baseball cap from her head, ran her fingers through her frizzy perm, and dusted the cap against her chest. She forcefully pushed herself up, dusted her ass, and anchored the cap back on her head. _Piece of cake_. She would be there in no time.

She counted five steps towards her destination when she heard a shrill shout behind her:

"DANA!"

Scully forcefully bit her lip and swore under her breath. Great. Now, it was a piece of bullshit.

"DANA!" The voice was coming closer.

She stopped. Sure. Fine. What the hell, anyway? Was she going to make Melissa chase her until they reached the airport? The woman was pregnant, for God's sake. She had to stop – she had no fucking choice.

Scully sighed heavily and faced her heaving, very pregnant, sister. In response, Melissa straightened her semi-curly strawberry blond hair away from her face and then smiled for Scully, even if her face was about to burst from the sudden physical activity.

"What?" Scully immediately answered back before Melissa could start coming up with unnecessary explanations. This, she hoped, was going to be a piece of cake, too.

"Whe- where are you going, sweetie?" Missy asked, her tone softer than what she expected. Great. Missy only talked soft when she was worried. Great. Now she had to be mindful of her pregnant, worried sister. Piece of shit. Remove the damn bull in it. This one was all shit.

Scully stood up a little straighter and stared at her sister straight in the eye. "America," she answered back with all the confidence she could muster. Melissa raised an eyebrow, but to her credit, she acted as if she was not surprised.

"Dana, sweetie, what are you going to do in America?" Her sister craned her neck to inspect the backpack Scully had hanging on one of her shoulders. Missy grimaced. "And you're only bringing THAT?"

Scully squirmed. She wanted to run away from Melissa. Run far, far away from all this shit so that she did not have to stand there in the middle of the damn dirt road and answer all of her sister's nosy questions. God dammitt. She needed a piece of miracle right now. "Buzz off, Missy. I am going to America, OK? End of conversation; end of YOUR questions; end of all THIS!" She resisted the urge to spit on the ground and instead headed once again towards that _roughly_ one hundred mile hike she was about to take.

Missy struggled to keep up with her. "C'mon _chwaer!_" The British accent was more prominent with Missy when she was frustrated. She also only spoke Welsh when she was truly frustrated, so Scully knew she was not getting out of this easily.

Scully used to hope that she had Missy's accent – when Scully spoke, it was all British from the capitalizations to the dots. Not that it was bad, but it somehow added more complications to her plans of being an American immigrant. She did want to blend in as much as possible.

"Darling," Missy once again softened her tone, still pushing forward with her incessant nagging. Scully kept going forward, too. "Please, let's talk about this, okay? How much do you have in your wallet?"

Scully paused, mentally counted the money she stuffed in her wallet, and replied, "500 US Dollars."

Missy reacted with a faint, "Oh my God." She moved closer to Scully. "Hon, you're not going to get anywhere with that. Here, let me write you a check …"

"I _don't_ need a check, Missy. I'm going away, okay? I'm going far away from this bloody place!" Scully breathed out. She had to swallow hard to stop the tears from her eyes. This was not the time for sentimentality. Piece of ass that it was. She began to walk once more

"Well, then, at least tell me what you're going to do in America!"

That made Scully stop. Seeing this final opportunity, Missy hopped to tower over her little sister. Melissa was all stomach now, but she was also an intimidating five and seven inches tall. Scully was pure bone, a bit of fat where she wanted it, and muscles – all five and three inches of her. Damn it, Missy could outdo her in these staring contests anytime, all the time.

Ignoring her panic, she lifted her chin and calmly stated her answer in her best Welsh: "Fi m yn cerdded at dawnsia."

The translation? "I'm going to dance."

Missy threw her hands up in the air. Exasperated, she took Scully by the shoulders and shook her sister hard. "Wake up, Dana! You're not going to get anywhere with your dancing! Of all the things … God! You're so cliché, you know that? So fucking cliché!"

Pregnant women were dangerous to anger, but hell, short women were even more dangerous. Scully shoved her sister out of her way and continued walking. "I don't care. I don't care about you, or this place, or Bill, or Charles … I'm leaving. Forget that I ever existed!"

"Perfect," Missy discreetly said, but in the middle of a damn dirt road, Scully heard it loud and clear. Before Scully knew it, her sister was keeping up again with her. "Fine, so go there and dance all you want in America! Just promise me that you'll write me so I can send you some money!"

Scully ignored Melissa. She jerked her backpack tighter against her shoulder and rubbed her eyes. She was not going to cry, not now, damn it.

Melissa took her forcefully by the arm and stared at her eye-to-eye. "Swear by Mother's grave that you'll write to me every month! Swear by Mother's grave NOW!"

She gritted her teeth as she answered, "Fine."

Missy released her arm. Serendipitously, at that exact moment, a cab passed by. Scully hailed it with her free arm and ran towards it when it stopped a few meters in front of them. She sat in the passenger's side.

Melissa was still standing there, appearing a wee bit surprised that Scully was really that determined.

Before Scully could close the car door, she stuck her head out and shouted, "Go home, Miss! Don't want to get you all wet!"

The sky groaned in protest and thundered hard. Missy almost jumped at the sound. Scully grinned and saluted her sister as the cab drove off, leaving the pregnant Melissa all alone there on the damn dirt road.

* * *

**End of Prologue**

* * *

**NOTES:** _Chwaer_ is "sister" in Welsh.

**MORE NOTES: **Yes, this is the same fic you read at least ten years ago. It is better though, because I have edited and rewritten some parts of it. And yes, just like The X- Files Revival, I rebooted "Spunk" to finally finish it (or at least tie up loose ends, which I am hoping Mr. Carter does this time around).

As always, I welcome with open arms reviews/favorites/follows from both old and new readers alike. As Spunk would say, "You better bloody write me something here, you chocoholic you!"


	2. Chapter One: Lone Glitter Bar

**CHAPTER ONE:**

* * *

Lone Glitter bar, Los Angeles  
6 March 1985  
Wednesday

The loud blaring background music was already ticking in on his brain. He _hated_ new wave. He understood that it was popular with the new generation of "yuppies" that were recently released from their cages just a few years ago; however, he had found the musical arrangements destructive. The suggestive tinkering of cymbals throughout the whole song, the irregular placement of beats, the semi-lonely/semi-lunatic singing voice which was supposedly crooning up front – God, he hated every damn bit of it. Whoever introduced new wave should be shot square on the head.

Maybe he was just truly getting old. Insecurities like these are common to someone who had already surpassed the digits in the calendar … or people like him, who was older than 32 years. He was about as old as 39. Did that make him old enough to hate new wave?

Fox Mulder tapped the tall glass on the kidney-shaped table he was leaning on in front of him. The bartender, who was striking up a flirty conversation with a resident blonde waitress, waved at him. He apparently needed a few minutes before he could attend to Mulder. _A few minutes_. A few more minutes and that rainbow-haired bartender would have the keys to the blonde's apartment.

Ah, wonderful. A few more minutes and he would be throwing the most expensive piece of furniture in the bar towards that goddamn blaring thing. He had had enough of Duran Duran.

The bartender, named "Sonny" (he did look a little like the real Sonny … but more on the Motley Crew side), sauntered over to Mulder and fancily poured hard gin into his glass. The bartender did not annoy him about getting his ninth glass for the evening or asked him about the way he gazed at the sound system like he was about to butcher it.

Anyway, if Mulder _wanted _some love and care, he could have gone to the Hilton Hotel and not to a rundown dance bar that had the last three letters of its neon sign hyperventilating.

Or maybe that was because it was named "Lone Glitter." Something had to go wrong with the way you were thinking when you already had three glasses of red wine at home … plus nine glasses of gin in the bar.

Mulder downed his latest drink in one large gulp. He felt the gin scrape into his throat, and at that exact time, the offensive background music faltered. The lights near the stage crisscrossed excitedly. Mulder sighed. The end of the new wave plague did not ease the ticking in his brain; it only worsened when the lights continued to flicker incessantly and he had to close his eyes because he was starting to feel his brain spontaneously combusting.

"Mulder!"

The familiar slurring of the letter L caught his attention. Finally! He was thinking that the asshole would never come. The other alcoholics around him were probably thinking that he was performing an initiation for their club.

He twisted around to face his companion and almost fell off of the chair. He settled himself and took a deep breath. The owner of the club – or one of the three owners of the club – Langley, in all his kung-fu glory, grabbed Mulder for a bear hug. Mulder had no choice but to allow this kind of debauchery, and he sighed further when he found his arguably large nose right into Madonna's face. Langley, a bit older than him, still had a liking for commercially printed shirts which featured the latest album cover of the hottest singer around.

The thin, scraggly man patted his friend's back appreciatively and released him. Mulder sat there in front of Langley, in all his drunken glory, looking a bit too dazed for comprehension.

"My friend! You probably had too much of this, eh?" Langley grabbed his glass and peered into the opaque goblet like it was a test tube. "Sonny should have alerted me. I told him to ring me once you're here." Mulder tried to grab back the glass but was dejected when Langley shoved it into a place where he could not reach. He rolled his eyes and decided that Langley was now his _former _best friend.

Mulder groggily pointed a shaky finger towards the flirting bartender and the waitress. "I think your Sonny found a new Cher."

Langley adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and squinted at his employees. "That's not Cher, Mulder; her name's Christina."

Mulder groaned. Where the fuck was Frohike's sense of humor when you needed it?

"Wh-why do you want me here, Langley? Where are Athos and Porthos?" He closed his eyes shut tightly, then opened them suddenly. It used to be an effective way of jerking him awake after a drinking session. However, now, after his alcohol intake, it barely had any effect on him.

Langley was oblivious to his drunkenness. His friend sat down with his eyes glued to the catwalk stage in the middle of club. That stage was where the three musketeers got their new dancers to perform and where those new dancers got their little break or their end of the road. Truth be told, the three stooges could actually afford a better and bigger place than this dump. But the last time he tried to coax them to opening one closer to his mansion in Beverly Hills, the guys gave him an affirmative "NO." The reason behind it was also an affirmative mystery.

His blonde friend motioned a finger towards the stage. "Watch, my good friend and see what I have for you."

The stage was nothing but darkness. Mulder was not really in the mood for a guessing game. "Look, I don't have time for this –"

Langley placed a finger on his thin lips: a stern indication for him to keep his mouth shut. Mulder was also not in the mood for an argument, so he did was his friend asked him to. He was free for the rest of the damn evening, anyway.

The lights blinked in shades of purple, blue, yellow, and green. These lights crowded around the stage and into the dark corners of the bar until a big flash of white light tore through all the small circles. Then the dancer appeared.

The unsettling melodies of Michael Jackson's "Thriller" tore through the bar's hollow walls and through the high-pitched chatter of the alcoholics a few steps from them. Every single bit of attention was now directed on the stage. For Mulder, it was already the night's highlight. IF ever he chanced upon the bar for purely enjoyment purposes, this was the only reason he would stay around.

The bar's motif of dancing women who wanted _their_ break was a copycat of Flashdance. It so happened that the three guys enjoyed the movie so damn much that they decided for pool all their resources together to open this club. It was not classy, but wannabe dancers found it good enough for a little break in different stages of their careers.

A petite redhead appeared on the center of the stage, clad only in black fishnet stockings and a sequin-studded green one-piece suit. Inadequate lighting made it hard for Mulder to look at the woman's face, but he saw her body gyrating to the beat. He saw how every single bit of her muscle was radiating the music. How she swayed in perfect synch to the tune. How she _became_ the music. She had the moves of Michael Jackson and the grace of a ballerina – and it worked. Strangely, it worked.

When her final move came, the intoxicated crowd broke into a sweaty standing ovation. Even Mulder, who a few minutes ago was nearing his alcohol threshold, was on his feet and clapping his hands like crazy. The dancer bowed, her red hair covering the rest of her face, and then ran off the stage.

Mulder stood there for a few seconds, dazed, and suddenly took Langley by the collar. His friend had a smug grin plastered on his lips. It took all of Mulder's will power to not punch it right out of his damn long chin.

"Damn you! Damn you, Ringgo! You bastard! You shithead! You should have gotten me prepared for that!" he shouted into Langley's face. The blonde kung-fu master still had the smug grin intact.

"You want her?"

Mulder tightened his hold on Langley's collar. "Fuck. You."

"I'll take that as a yes." The slurring of his L made Mulder grimace. Langley's grin now became triumphant. "She's new, young, fresh … and get this, she's British."

He loosened his hold on his friend's collar. "Okay… what's the catch?"

Langley brushed away invisible specks of dust where Mulder previously held him. "Well, she's the pill … a real, deal pill. Pop her in and all your headaches _will_ come back at you. She's very headstrong … just a warning."

"You should've warned me before I saw her dance. She was, wow, amazing."

"We call her _Spunk_ here."

The nickname caught Mulder's curiosity. "Uhh, Spunk?"

"She has more spunk than a roaring blaze. She takes no bitches, no assholes, no bullshit. That's her, oh yes, that's her all right!" Langley rolled his eyes. They almost fell right back into his head. "Don't ask me about it! I'm also scared of her! Frohike thinks she's a glam, though."

"I didn't see much of her on that stage." Mulder waved towards the darkened stage. "I do want to see all of her." He winced, thinking that his last statement sounded crass, so he rephrased it. "I do want to see her. See how she looks like. See if she fits who I'm looking for."

Langley handed Mulder a rusty key. In response, Mulder stared at it on his palm quizzically.

"That's Spunk's dressing room key. She leaves in fifteen."

Mulder shrugged and raised the key to their eye level. Langley shrugged back. "She tends to lock her dressing room. Spunk doesn't open even if you puke your voice box out."

Mulder took that as an exciting challenged. He pressed the key into his palm, feeling the cool exterior of the smooth metal surface. He had never backed out of a challenge.

* * *

"GO FUCKING AWAY!"

Those were the first words _Spunk_ shouted at him when he knocked on the sad dressing room door. Not exactly a good start, if he wanted a healthy working relationship with her. A healthy _probable_ working relationship, that was.

"Umm, _Spunk_," he tentatively started. Hell to Langley for not telling him the woman's real name. Hell to himself for being too drunk to find out. "Hi, I'm Fox Mulder. I-I want to talk about you about something important."

"I AM NOT INTERESTED! GO FUCK SOMEBODY ELSE!"

Mulder deeply sighed. Oh God. This was going to be a long night – a lot longer than he expected it to be. "Look, Miss – whatever your name is – I'm sorry if I have to barge in on you like this, but I just want to talk. I don't want to f-" he paused. He was not going to say that. He was NOT going to say that especially when he was still drunk. "- harm you. I saw you dance. I want, no, I think, I find you … you were spectacular out there, Spunk."

The voice inside suddenly quieted down. "Thank you, Sir." It was not as inviting as he wanted it to sound, though.

"Can you … could you please-" His grammar chose not to cooperate at exactly the worst moment. _Goddammitt the red girl were there, he need to saw her!_ "Please, open the door? I don't want to barge in there. I want to talk to you, diplomatically."

There were a few tense seconds involving him, the rotting wooden door, his liquor-smelling breath, and the woman at the opposite side of this all.

Latches were unlocked. He wanted to dance: he did not even have to use the key! Mulder was about to throw his hands in triump when he remembered that he had better things to do with them: he opened the door.

A strikingly beautiful redhead was staring up at him cautiously from the dressing room's burgundy couch. The first thing he noticed about her, now that she's in full view, was her blue eyes. They captivated him, a kind of senseless captivation that just overtook him. It was like looking at a book's front cover and knowing immediately that there were more mysteries in that damn book that you could ever imagine. That was her – a great vast mystery.

Or he really was _that_ drunk.

"What do you need from me?" The thick British accent was now more audible than when she was barking at him through the door. Her accent was kind of cute, actually. Not at all annoying like Langley's slurring of all his L's. Hers was British – street-smart, gritting, and needed no other introduction.

"I'm Fox Mulder." He did this with as much composure he could muster. He held a hand out towards the young lady. She stared at it as if it was a ten-inch knife.

"I'm Dana Scully." _Dana_ shifted her gaze away from his large hand and started tying her rubber shoes. She already has changed from the shiny green costume and changed into something more streetwise: plain neon yellow cotton shirt, denim jumpers, and white sneakers. Did anyone ever tell her never to wear white shoes after Labor Day? Anyway …

"Call me _Scully_," she said through her knees. Ah, the unmistakable _Spunk_.

Mulder couldn't help himself – he suddenly was grinning like an idiot. She didn't appear as feral as Langley and the conversation behind the door indicated. Maybe this would work out to his advantage. That were his thoughts until the next words he uttered were out of his mouth before he could even think about them …

"What about _Spunk?"_

Or, maybe not.

_Scully_ lifted her gaze from her feet and glared sharply at him. It could have melted him into a semi-gelatinous membrane within three seconds. Thank God she only held that glare for two. Unfortunately, though, that look was not enough punishment for his jive.

"Call me _Spunk_ and I'll tie your balls behind your waist."

That almost rendered him speechless. _Almost_.

"Fine. So I won't call you _Spunk_. And to be fair, call me _Mulder._ That's how I like being called, anyway." He did not even dare move in his place. He finally was allowed to breathe when Scully went back to tying her shoes. "I saw you dance out there," he continued, "I want … I think I can offer you something you couldn't resist."

She was not satisfied with her first knot. She untied it and began the process all over again. "Try me," she replied. Mulder could not help rubbing his palms together. She was a challenge indeed.

"I want you for my next movie. It involves a lot of dancing and you, my dear, are perfect for it!"

There was no further reply. Scully twisted her laces into their final knot.

"I'll give you what you want. I'll get you … umm, your own apartment. I know a beautiful house in Beverly Hills. If you want a career, I can get you a career. This is a big movie – a sure-fire hit. I want you in it." He tucked his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. Skim-leged females and pencil-figured guys danced around his eyes. _Ah, the perfect movie_. "Just tell me yes, and I'll give you your break."

The redhead sighed as she undid her knot again and tied it back up. Even the way she sighed was feisty. "I don't want a career, Mr. Mulder. I'm fine as I am."

More lithe adult-children were pirouetting around Mulder's head, passing through his ears, squeezing their graceful bodies in and out of his brain, giggling at him. He relaxed. "But you'll be a star! You don't need to dance in joints like these anymore! You'll be a big, big star!"

Scully stared at him. Her face was a cross between a woman who was about to get mugged and a woman who was about to shoot the mugger. Mulder, oblivious to this, did not stop talking as she tied the final knot of her dirty white shoelaces. "I'll get you everything you want! Money? Husband? What kind do you want? A cowboy? Preppy? A rock star? I can do that for yah!"

"SNAP THE FUCK OUT OF IT, MULDER!"

His smug smile disappeared and he paled in shock. The giggling dancers disappeared from his eyes and all that was now before him was this small redhead who was arranging her crimped hair in front of the vanity table. She was eyeing him warily, then she shook her head. The way she did made Mulder shrink. It made him feel like he was the biggest bastard/asshole in the whole world.

It took all his will to stop the flush that was starting to spread on his cheeks. Spunk would not want to see a grown man blush.

"Stop jabbering and tell me what you really want." The sharpness of her accent punched Mulder dead in his gut. He cleared his throat and turned around, scratching his nose to hide the embarrassment.

"Here's my deal: I'll make you the lead in my movie and I'll give you the career you have been dreaming about."

"And what, pray tell, do you think is the career I am dreaming about?" Scully said through the four pins that were sticking out of her mouth. She plucked one from her dry, chapping lips and pushed it into her frizzy hair's bun. Mulder turned around, then watched his reflection from the mirror. Scully stuck another pin into the middle of the bun.

"Well, someone like you usually would want a great mansion that overlooks the rest of Beverly Hills. Someone like you would want a highly publicized relationship with someone that's also highly publicized. Someone like you wants jewelry – to be the envy of Elizabeth Taylor herself –"

"You keep saying _someone, _Mr. Mulder." She yanked strands of her from the front of her face. They dropped on her cheeks like heavenly vines. The crimping made these look like tender stems from the Amazon.

Actually, everything about Scully reminded him of an Amazon woman.

"Mr, Mulder," Scully repeated, louder. "What do you think am _I _dreaming about?"

That was a tough one. What kind of career did an Amazonian want? A rich one? To be famous? A career that did not involve men?

Mulder took in all of Scully's features. She was really pretty, he realized. Her paleness was a sharp contrast to the crown of auburn that protected that wild brain of hers. Her lips were naturally crimson – chapped or not, and her eyes … those eyes again. Mulder was almost too scared to look into them; it was akin to looking at a cliff without a ground to fall onto. Even the rocky ground was safe enough. Her eyes just went on and on.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. What did she ask him? Was that even a question? _Jesus Christ_.

"I'm not an easy woman to decipher, Mr. Mulder. When I say I don't want a career – I don't need one." Those crimson lips curled up a little at the sides. He did not know if she was smiling or frowning at him.

Scully did not allow him to say anything further. She snatched her green costume from the dresser near Mulder, stuffed it into her backpack, and began to head for the door.

Five minutes must have had already passed when Mulder realized that he was like a big dork standing there in the dim dressing room. The woman had officially rendered him speechless. No one in his book had ever done that. _No one_.

And he was bound to keep it that way.

Mulder skipped through and about the overturned seats, skidded out of the door, and ran towards Scully. The taxis were rare at that hour, so thankfully, she was still standing there. In surprise, she stared at him with those unnerving blue eyes. Mulder took time to catch his breath before walking to face her.

When he stood in front of her, it was the first time he noticed the extremely large height difference between them. Christ, the woman was small. She barely reached his forehead and she was settled there, right below his chin. Her attitude gave her at least five inches more, and not that he wanted to forget that ever, but he wanted to have her submit to his offer. So if it meant using his height to tower over her, that was what he was going to damn do.

His fingers found his hips. "Ms. Scully, I have the utmost respect for immigrants. However, it is to the best of my knowledge that people like you do not come to America for no reason at all. If you don't want a career, you must be here to fulfill a _dream_."

Scully opened her mouth, and then closed it. She seemed to be bothered. He wondered if it was due to his question, until he caught her looking up at the top of his head. Of course! She was bothered by his intimidating height.

He was the consummate gentleman, even if he really wanted to make her stop spinning on her own top, so he backed away a step from her.

That did help her cringing expression change into something softer.

She adjusted the backpack to better fit her thin arm. He noticed that she wore it on one shoulder only, like most people do nowadays. "I – I always wanted to dance in Las Vegas."

Mulder could not help the sound of relief that he gurgled out. Spunk was human, after all! _Hallelujah!_ "Great! Wonderful! I'll get you Vegas. When do you want to dance in it?"

A look of pure confusion crossed her face. "I don't want anyone's help, OK? I'm dancing in Vegas by myself."

"No one gets around town without a little help, Ms. Scully."

"If there's anyone who can – it's me," she answered defiantly, licking her dry lips. Mulder rolled his eyes. Fine. So he would let it hang for a while. Byers once told him that he never knew how to quit while he was ahead. He would prove them wrong this time.

Mulder stared around them, seeing the dark alleys surrounding the backyard of the club. He thought about where someone as dainty – and dare he said it – pretty as Scully would live. She shouldn't even be going home alone in this hour.

"Do you want me to drive you home, Ms. Scully?"

She shook her head, releasing some auburn fluffs of hair from her bun.

"It's already –" He glanced at his wristwatch. "11:26, Scully. I should drive you home. It's not advisable for you to take a cab in this part of town."

"I've been taking a cab ever since I arrived here, Mr. Mulder." The feistiness of her voice was suddenly gone, only to be replaced by exhaustion. Mulder did not even want to know the reason behind it. "I've been coming home from 11 PM to 2 AM. No one has ever dared to harm me."

"They might dare today."

She let out a small laugh. A nervous yet still sarcastic laugh. "I appreciate your concern, Mulder, but if this is your way of luring me to star in your movie, I'm going to tell you in advance – it won't work."

"You kno-"

"Quit while you're ahead, Mr. Mulder," she cut in before he could even finish his sentence. That struck him … in a good way. Quit while _he's ahead_? Is that a good or a bad thing? Damn Byers. Damn Byers and his know-it-all observations. And damn this redhead for readhing him like a kindergarten picture book.

He did not say anything more. They stood beside each other until a cab approached and Mulder hailed it.

He opened the door for Spunk and she stepped in the backseat without any qualms. He was surprised that she did not mention anything about him opening the door for her.

Before Mulder closed the door, he held onto the handle and looked right into those blue eyes.

"When you mean that I should quit while I'm ahead, does that mean I'm _already_ ahead?"

Scully bit her lip, as if she was stopping herself from grinning. "I'll think about your offer, Mr. Mulder."

He closed the door and the taxi whizzed away. He could not help but smile at himself.

* * *

**End of Chapter One**


	3. Chapter Two: Cawey Apartment Complex

**CHAPTER TWO:**

* * *

#42 Cawey Apartment Complex, Los Angeles  
March 7, 1987  
Thursday

Mulder ran his fingers through his coarse hair. He did not have time to shampoo his brown locks today. Emily hogged the shower the moment he woke up until the moment after he ate breakfast. He banged on the door, pleadingly telling her that he needed to get his shampoo so he could shower at the other bathroom, but all he got was a good snubbing from his daughter. It was a _wonderful_ way to start the day.

He studied the steel door entrance before him, looking nervously at the number "42" that was drilled in front of his nose. This was where Frohike told him to go, where _Spunk_ supposedly lived. As he had previously guessed, it was one of those rundown apartment complexes – this time, near a 7Eleven shop that had been mugged three times last month alone. This was no place for a feisty, petite, and dare he said it again, pretty redhead.

He half-knocked/half-scratched on the steel door. It emitted a, "GO FUCK SOMEBODY ELSE'S DOOR!"

At least he knew he was not knocking on the wrong door.

"Scully, it's me. It's Fox Mulder. I- I don't want to –" He was not going to say it. He was not going to say it when he had not even shampooed his fucking hair for a day. Ah shit, he _said_ it! Christ, at least she was not hearing it! "I want to talk to you."

This time around, there were no tense moments. The door opened easily and she was on the other side of the frame, studying him with a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth. A few suds of toothpaste dribbled down her chin, and some more on her oversized t-shirt that had the words "BOY TOY" on them. Of course, Madonna.

Scully removed the toothbrush from her mouth and hit it behind her back. He thought she swallowed some of those suds, especially since she looked so startled that he was actually standing in front of her – all spick and span – and there she was, barely even prepared to show the world her face.

Through her still suds-filled mouth, she said, "Find somewhere to sit. I'll go wash up."

She quickly bounded over to where the bathroom was as Mulder entered the apartment. He was surprised that the whole shabby place was clean. It was quite pleasant, truth be told, contrary to what he maliciously expected. Scully even had the dirtiest corners of the room decorated with golden lilies. She stacked them onto plastic coke containers, and surrounded each flower with yellow carnations. The dark shade of the room's blue wallpaper was brightened up with those small cans of flowers.

He also saw that she kept everything in order. There was a bookshelf right in front of him and another surprise – the books were even arranged alphabetically! Frohike did not mention anything about Spunk being a control freak.

Then he remembered Scully repeatedly retying her shoe laces the first time they met. Not only was she a control freak, but she was also a perfectionist. Even Spunk detail-obsessed Frohike missed that one.

He had already made himself comfortable on the loveseat when Scully came out of the bathroom holding a green towel to her face.

"Good morning, Mr. Mulder. What do you want to talk about?"

He should be surprised that she did not apologize for her previous morning greeting or her appearance, but he was not. He was starting to get used to all this _spunk_. "Scully, have you had time to think about my offer?"

Scully tilted her head back, savoring the feel of the soft towel on her temples. "Yes, I guess I have."

Mulder watched her intently as she gingerly pelted her neck over and over again with that towel. She was captivating when she did that. Her eyes were half-lidded from complete satisfaction and stray tendrils of shoulder-length hair were being ruffled by the air coming from the air conditioning unit a few meters behind her.

If she agreed to this project, he would have to add a scene that involved her doing _that_ exact thing with a towel in the movie.

"Umm, well?" he prodded.

Scully stopped what she was doing and faced him. "I wouldn't lose anything if I said yes, would I?"

His legs reacted immediately and he jumped off of the couch. He could not believe it! "That's a yes, right?"

Spunk smiled without revealing her teeth. "Yes, it is."

Ah, now business was rolling. Mulder walked over to Scully and held out a hand. "So, is it a deal?"

She looked at his hand, and then at his face. That was weird.

"Umm, Scully?"

"What is our deal? First," she cleared. Mulder tucked his outstretched hand into his pocket and nodded. Okay, fine, that made sense.

"I'll take care of you while this movie is in process. I know you don't want a career, but I have to promote you. So next week, I'll be flying you to Vegas. The movie starts shooting within two months, so you'll have enough time to rehearse a good dance number for Vegas for a month tops. After that, you could fly back here in Los Angeles to do the movie," he articulated carefully, each word perfectly memorized in his head.

She still did not seem satisfied, though. She appeared more satisfied with the towel than with what he just proposed to her.

"Okay," he tried again, "so I'll take care of your expenses. You can live in an apartment across –"

"I don't want another apartment," she countered too quickly. Mulder shifted his head towards her direction.

"What?" He scanned the small room they were in. The tabloids will have a field day with this! "You can't live in here while I'm _creating_ your public image. I know a perfectly beautiful apartment across my house that overlooks the –"

"Your house?" she repeated, her eyes twinkling. His gut was hitting him on the head, telling him that he was not supposed to like how those endless blues were twinkling at that moment.

"Yeah, of course I have a house. What do you think was I, anyway? A mushroom that sprouted around town when I see potentials like you?" He sounded defiant for he had to admit … he was nervous about that sparkle in her eyes.

He never quit while he was ahead. Yeah, right.

"It's not like that …" Scully trailed off. He would take that as an apology. She did not seem like the kind who outright apologized. "It's just that – wait, do you have a gym?"

Mulder scratched his head, felt his hair, then placed his hand back into his pocket. He did not want to be constantly reminded that he did not shampoo today. "The Beverly Hills clubhouse is just a few blocks away –"

"How about a basement?"

"Basement? Of course I have a basement," Mulder retorted. This was getting weirder and weirder, indeed.

"Perfect!" Scully headed back into the toilet. He waited while pondering what was so _perfect_ about him having a basement.

When she came out, she was carrying that trusty backpack of hers on one hand and her toiletries in the other. "You can wait for me in your car, Mulder."

Mulder jerked back, surprised by her announcement. Wait a minute – did they even reach the end of their agreement? Jesus H. Christ!

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Scully!" He held his two hands up before her. She stopped in her tracks, not even the least bit perplexed by all his commotion. Mulder cleared his throat, for he was certainly a lot perplexed. "What's perfect? What are you doing? What about your apartment?"

"I'm staying at your house," she deadpanned.

Mulder groaned loudly. Impossible. _This. Woman. Was. Impossible!_

"Scully... you can't stay at my house. You wouldn't... it wouldn't be _professional_ for me to bring home my movie stars -"

"Are you married?" she piped up. Seriously, when she asked that, he felt attacked.

"Divorced."

"Kids?"

"Yes- one, Emily. She's 21 years old and she's getting married soon," Mulder replied, feeling helpless. How did the British say that? _Halpless?_ Maybe she would understand him better if he talked with her accent.

"Good. See? No one will notice. I'm staying at your house," she happily finalized, moving over to the next thing she'll be stuffing inside her backpack.

Mulder blocked her way again. Scully huffed, annoyed at him.

"You can't stay at my place, Scully. I can find you your own home, if you want- you can't stay at my house. If I want to build up your career, you need to get a clean image."

She was obviously ticked off by the idea of a _clean_ image, because the next thing he knew, she was already right into his face.

"I DON'T HAVE a clean image- and I DON'T NEED one!"

Fine. Statement made. Input accessed. Spunk processed.

"C'mon, Scully... what do you want from my house? Why do you want to stay at my place?" He chased after her, picking up the small pieces of paper she scattered when she angrily snatched a book from the shelf. She swirled around so suddenly to face him that it almost threw him off-balance.

"BECAUSE I'm not used to living alone, okay? I AM NOT inclined to living alone in a DAMN apartment and I GET nightmares, okay? The only reason I'm IN this dump is 'coz I have no FUCKING choice!" She threw the book at him. Mulder caught it with his two hands, dropping the yellow pieces of paper on his feet like confetti.

_Oh._

"Ok, O- kay. I'm sorry if that was brought up," Mulder stammered. Scully took in a deep breath, shifting her shoulders lightly when she saw the mess that her outrage caused. She proceeded to her packing, though, and paid no more attention to him.

Mulder tapped the book on his hand nervously. Great. Perfect. This was going splendidly.

"If that's what you want, Scully... we have a spare room. You can stay there."

Her face brightened up. "And the basement?"

"What do you want to do with the basement?" Stab him in the back and bury him there? She could be a female serial killer, for all he knew. He cleared his throat to purposely leave those thoughts OUT of the sentence.

"I need to practice. I practice my dance everyday from 3 to 8 PM."

Shit. This girl was seriously dancing her ass off.

"Sure. You can have the basement all to yourself within those hours," he surrendered, handing over the book to her. Instead of accepting it, though, she held her hand out to him.

"Deal?"

Mulder gritted his teeth."You'reonlystayingatmyhouseuntilthemovie'sfinished- Deal." He took her hand and shook it hard before she could even protest. Her eyes widened.  
"And you have to go by the rules, too."

Her wide blue eyes narrowed at him. He thought she was going to protest more, but she mouthed a "Fine" at him and forcefully jerked the book away from his hands.

He never backed out of a challenge. Never did, never would.

* * *

"Who the hell is she, Dad?" That was the afternoon greeting he got from his daughter. Emily was positioned at the top of the stairs by the banister, staring at him as if he was an alien from Mars that had popped its head inside the Manor. _Hi, Emily, I come in peace._

Mulder casually made sure that Scully was busy unpacking her things in the guest bedroom before he climbed the stairs two steps at a time towards his daughter. Emily waited for him patiently, chewing on her index fingernail (a habit of hers that he had tried to stop a long, long time ago- and he liked to think he was somewhat successful since she was recently wavering). He reached her side panting. He leaned on the banister to support his body.

"She's... she's Dana Scully... the _Spunk_ girl I was talking about..." he wheezed. Emily nodded, peering at Scully over Mulder's shoulder who was hauling a carton of books into the room. His daughter turned back to him, appearing alarmed.

"Dad," she whispered, "What is she doing here? Isn't this against the rules?"

Mulder finally caught his breath and straightened up a little to meet his daughter eye- to- eye. "Are there any rules involved in this, honey?"

Her hazel eyes flickered. She tossed a long brunette curl away from her chest and over her bony shoulder. "C'mon, Dad, you know what I mean. The press is going to have a field day when they try to find out where she lives. How old is she?" Emily uttered without any pauses. Mulder wrinkled his forehead.

His daughter was not going to like his answer.

"Umm... she's 20, Emily."

"Oh, shit," Emily blurted out, darting another glance at Scully. At that moment, the pint- sized redhead was bringing in her lilies and carnations. Mulder pointed out to her (back in the apartment) that he would get her all the lilies and carnations she wanted that were TWICE the size of those she already had, but Scully just ignored him. He found it weird for her to bring every single piece of flower into his house. He hoped that she was not going to decorate them all over his living room.

"Dad, I'm a year older than she is!" Emily's voice quivered as she said that. "That makes me feel... OLD."

Mulder nodded, still watching Scully. He resisted the urge to say, _If that makes you feel old, honey, how do you think that makes ME feel?  
_It was no time for his insecurities to kick in and throw a temper tantrum.

"She's British, honey. She arrived here in the US a month and a half ago, so as you can see, she needs a lot of guidance. Scully's-"

"-Scully?" Emily butted in. Mulder tore his scrutiny away from Spunk.

"Yes, Scully- she wants to keep it that way. _Spunk_." He included the infamous nickname to explain the last name basis.

"Oh, Spunk," Emily repeated, and then followed her father's gaze on Scully.

"She's headstrong, Em, so I suggest that you be patient with her. She promised me that she'll be nicest to you, and nice to me."

"That, that doesn't sound promising at all," Emily critically supplied. Mulder nodded again.

"I know, Em, but that's the best that I can do." He sighed. This was going to be the hardest arrangement he had ever lived in. Probably, if all things would not end well, it could be worst than his previous arrangement with his ex- wife, Diana. That was hell, complete with fire bursting torches. He wondered what this arrangement could be likened to.

"Dad... you told me that there are no rules involved with future directors living in the same house with their future stars..." Emily waited for a sign for her to go on.

Mulder gave her a careless wave.

"But Dad, what if... what are you going to tell the press? This is going to blow up, sooner or later once you start working on your movie."

He clasped his fingers together, leaning against the banister. Right. Of course, Emily always perceived the future. That was her most endearing trait. And why, through all odds and challenges, she was his best friend. She was the only person in the world he could trust completely.

"We'll take care of that later, Emily. What's important is that Scully's already in our hands. We got to her before anyone else did."

Emily considered that with a finger to her lip. When she was fairly satisfied with his answer, she mimicked his position on the banister. Their heads were so close, he couldn't resist resting his on her shoulder. He was a tired, tired bastard. Talking, arguing, and yeah, fighting with Scully took most of his energy. A challenge. Sure.

"She kicks your butt, huh?" It wasn't exactly the discovery of the decade.

"She makes it a loser's butt. She's a fantastic dancer- one of the best, I believe. I guess that makes it worth it. I'm going finish this movie even if my butt's all nerve and bone."

Emily anchored a hand on his other shoulder. She felt sorry for her Dad. "How come she has to stay here? There's a beautiful apartment across our-"

"Scully told me that she doesn't like being alone." He spoke in a hushed tone, making sure that the redhead was inside her room before he answered his daughter. He left out the part about the nightmares. Emily didn't need to hear about that.

"Oh," she replied. "If that's the case... I'm going to help you work this out."

Mulder smiled. He kissed Emily on the forehead fondly. "She's only staying here until the movie's finished, Em."

His daughter gave him her "sugar" grin, a special smile she reserved for her father. "Dad, by that time, I'm long gone," she reminded him, and his expression remained constant.

He didn't want his own daughter to see how affected he was about her marriage. He didn't want himself walking around with a name tag that said "selfish"- and anyway, even if he did, no one could blame him. His daughter was his only possession. Ever since his relationship with Diana deteriorated years ago, Emily had been at his side for better or for worse. It wasn't a big surprise when Emily chose his custody over her mother's. They were tighter than two peas in a pod.

"Yeah, of course." He almost didn't get half of that sentence out of his mouth.

Below them, Scully stepped out of her room, holding a folded carton. She stared up at them, and seeing Emily, she grinned. It was the first time Mulder saw her grin. And Christ, it was fantastic. It was all her lilies and carnations in one whole package. She looked young when she smiled- not too serious, not too angsty, not too old.

He didn't realize that Emily was already striking up a conversation with the young woman. He felt his daughter's elbow on his rib.  
"Dad will be with you, Scully-"

"-Dana," Scully corrected. Mulder's eyes widened.

Emily discreetly glanced at her father. "Uhh, yeah, Dana. Jenny made her fabulous secret sauce with the steak. You should taste that." She motioned to Mulder. "You should eat too, Dad. You haven't had lunch, yet." She kissed him on the cheek, and whispered, "Jeff is gonna pick me up. I'll be out of here 4 on the dot, ok?"

Mulder didn't have any reactions left in him. He nodded weakly, and proceeded to meet with _Dana_ downstairs for lunch.

* * *

Scully sliced another big chunk of steak and dabbed it with Jenny's super secret (fabulous, too, he should not forget that) sauce. Mulder watched in utter fascination as she consumed it in one large bite. It was already her second serving of those large slabs of steak, and Mulder knew that he was going to be wearing one of those big slobs on his face if he kept staring at her like he was doing at that very moment.

Even with that possible consequence, he still kept staring. It always enthralled him at how skinny women always had the fastest of all metabolisms. Scully was a dancer, so she must be a healthy eater to compensate for all those pounds she burned every hour she danced to the ground. He, himself, watched his calorie intake like a crazy hawk to make sure that he was keeping his body fit. He exercised, like her, but unlike her, he could not eat two thick slices of steak in one sitting.

Mulder swiftly went back to his food when Scully was distracted from the steak. As an excuse, he picked up his glass of juice.

"You were watching me," she noted. Mulder almost choked on his grape juice. Shit, and it had only been a few hours since Spunk moved into his home. He could not even think of living with her every day for the next whole year. Shit.

He recovered after forcing himself to concentrate on swallowing the juice. She was still waiting for his answer when he took another shaky sip of his drink.

"Yes," Mulder answered. He learned over the two days that he had been encountering this woman that the best way to deal with her was to be outright honest.

Scully emitted something out of her throat that sounded like a, "hmm", before offering him some of Jenny's super secret sauce. It was strategically positioned right in front of her. She figured he wanted some of it.

He didn't figure that out. He shook his head.

"If you don't want more sauce, then why were you watching me?"

Mulder forced his lips to form a smile and then took some of that fabulous super secret Jenny sauce. Scully handed it to him eagerly. The question that was supposed to be asked was never asked, for none of them wanted to ask it in the first place.

* * *

"Yes, yes, Walter. I understand what you're telling me. She's here."

Mulder propped his feet up on the coffee table. He stretched his arms out on the lazy boy, accidentally pulling the phone from his ear. He forgot that one of his fingers was entwined with the cord. Mulder pushed himself up and put the phone back to his ear. His producer, at the other end, was calling his name out over and over again.

"Yeah- Yeah, I'm here!" Mulder piped up.

"We have casting agents for jobs like these, Mulder. Directors don't do the casting," Walter Skinner reminded him. As if he needed reminding. He had been working side- by- side with a director for as long as he could remember. He knew that the Director took it lightly until the real shooting process started. But this was his first damn movie. He wanted to be as involved as possible to make it happen- to keep it real.

"Yeah, Walter, still she's perfect. I'm telling you. Come here tomorrow; bring the rest of the gang. They'll fall in love with her. I'll let her dance in front of you people." Sometimes, his sentence structure would not fall in synch. Maybe that was the reason he never became a scriptwriter. That was his first real goal way back in high school, until he landed a producing job for a TV series. The rest was history.

"One by one, Mulder," Walter cleared. "I'll take the gang _there_? Explain to me the nature of your relationship with this woman."

"She's-" Mulder grimaced as the realization of Walter's words struck him. Shooting had not even started and someone was already speculating. "I met her only yesterday, Walter! Yes, she's living here in our house- but that's purely for professional reasons."

"There's an enchanting apartment across your hous-"

"Fuck, I know that already! This wasn't my liking, this was what she wanted, and I only aim to _please_!" Mulder burst out. He had enough of that _apartment across his house_ crap. "I'm going to make her the lead of the movie, whether you people like it or not. I'm telling you, she's perfect! She has the body, the looks, the hei- well, not really the height, but she's perfect! And she has the attitude, I tell you."

"What kind of attitude?"

"They don't call her _Spunk_ back in Lone for nothing," he whispered into the phone, as if he was divulging the whereabouts of a secret tomb of an Egyptian Pharaoh.

"British, huh?" Walter filled in for him. Mulder raised an eyebrow.

"Perfect. Do I have to spell that out for you, Walt? P- E- R- F- E- C- T."

"Understood the word the first time you said it."

"Of course you did." But of course, Walter did not. His producer always kept pushing and pushing until he could not push anymore. That was one thing they had in common- they both could not quit. Mulder could not quit while he was ahead. Walter simply could not quit.  
Maybe that was why they worked so well with each other.

"Why is she staying there again?" Walter asked. Mulder rested his head on his own shoulder. Here came Walter's selective amnesia.

"Because she wants to. It's part of our deal. I offered her that 'fantastic apartment' across my house, but she declined. She told me that she isn't used to living alone, and since I officially discovered her, I said OK. I should take care of her, if she's going to be in the business after this. Scully's only staying here until the movie's finished."

"You had a _deal_?" Apparently, the sentences that followed the word 'deal' didn't matter to his producer.

"Yes. It wasn't written, if you are interested. It's just a deal - we shook hands and had the deal."

"Do you want to write it down? I could type something for you."

"No need Walter. Just ready the studio's contract - specifically for only one movie." Mulder reclined back on the lazy boy, making sure that he did not have the phone's chord stuck to his fingers. He cradled the receiver in between his head and shoulder, and then stretched his arms over his head. It had been a very long day.

He heard some frenzied scattering of papers at the other end of the line. "You talk like you own Warner Brothers, Mulder," his producer remarked, then sounds of paper shredding followed.

"I worked long enough with Warner Brothers. I partly own that studio," Mulder retorted. A yawn escaped him, and he didn't bother keeping it from the other end. "I need to rest. Been a long day."

"Sure. I'll call you tomorrow morning. The contract will be ready by then."

Mulder thanked Walter, then placed the phone back into its cradle.

He was about to climb the stairs when he heard his name from the living room.

"Yeah?" He stopped climbing. It was Scully.

She was clad only in a sweat- soaked blue jersey bikini and leg warmers. A thick film of moisture covered her face, and she was doing that towel- thing again. Her frizzy auburn hair was tied behind her in a neat bun this time- but that neat bun did not stop some loose strands to plaster all over her forehead. And contrary to the paleness that she always wore, this time, a faint pink was glowing all over her skin.  
Mulder made a mental note to himself: he would make her dance for three hours straight, before they would shoot a scene. She needed that natural flush. She looked incredible with it.

Scully inhaled before talking. "Are you going to rest?"

Mulder nodded, "Is there any problem?" He noticed the grandfather clock that was resting in the middle of the room. It read only 7:45 PM. She wasn't even supposed to be out of the basement at this time. "You finished earlier than you told me."

"Yeah." Scully hung the towel over her shoulders. "Where do you sleep?"

There was something about Spunk that would always surprise or scare him. Her inquisitiveness, he surmised, would forever be one of them. She asked questions out of the blue, not really minding what the other person's reaction would be and not really caring if the other person would mind.

It was a great thing he asked Scully to be nicest to Emily. If he was right about this woman, she's contrary to his own daughter: Emily was all sugar. She was, specifically, the ones coating those swirling lollipops that glisten with too much caramel. A little spice here and there, but that was what his daughter was made of. She cursed, but hey, everyone did. She was not perfect and that was never a problem. She was perfect enough for her father.  
Scully, well, Scully was different. She was the hard candy underneath - all spice and no sugar.

"I'm..." Mulder pointed towards the left hallway. "Right here. Two doors after the first one. Across mine is Emily's."

She flipped her hand out from under her fluffy towel. Creases started appearing on the sweaty entrails of her forehead. She was acting peculiar. Worried.

"Oh," she coughed out. Before Mulder could even think about her sudden change in mood, she spoke again. "Is Emily coming home anytime soon?"

Mulder closed his eyes, leaned his neck back against his hand, twisted it around to some irregular angles, before answering her question. "Yes. She's with her fiancé Jeffrey. She's in good hands, Scully." He opened his eyes, finding her blinking at him as if he just hit a truck going 100 mph. He had been officially an alien and a drunk driver in one day. He had enough. "I need to rest some, okay? You can get something to eat in the fridge. Jenny will clean it up." He turned his back to her before she could ask any more questions.

Maybe he heard her, or maybe it was a figment of his tired imagination, but he thought he heard an affirmative, "Okay. Sorry if I bothered you," from the lady.

Yeah, right. As if the "Spunk" will even dare to apologize to him.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER TWO**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **It is very interesting that this fanfic is still archived in some existing X-Files websites. The truth is out there, indeed.

That being said, I am editing each chapter carefully, so hopefully, you read these new versions rather than the older ones. Not that those embarrass me, but there are a lot of changes I am incorporating within each chapter to make the overall story better.

Thank you so much for the favorites, follows, and review. More reviews, perhaps?


	4. Chapter Three

**CHAPTER THREE:**

* * *

10 March 1985

Dear Melissa, 

This is my first letter to you. I know I promised that I would write to you every month, but the first month after I arrived here in America was difficult. At first, I was sleeping on the streets because I did not understand the way this country worked. I slept a whole five days on hard concrete, you see, but I have to admit, I am enjoying my freedom.

The next week was better. After some random dancing in rundown bars, I finally found a bar here in Los Angeles that was willing to take me in. The three owners were impressed with my dancing and they said they liked me, Missy. They appreciated my dancing and were billing me as their "star." They described me as "bad to the bone" – what kind of language is that, right? So, I rented an apartment near the dance club owned by those three people.

I really liked them, until they called for this particular airhead who burst into my dressing one evening. He was drunk, I could tell, by the way his eyes could not even focus on my face … and I could smell alcohol on his breath. It was overwhelming. He told me he wanted me to star in his movie. Hah. I hated _him_, Melissa. I hated him at once because he stared at me like I was a bimbette.

But what was alluring about him was that he did not quit at once. He kept pushing and pushing until I was tired from all his arguments. It was almost early morning, I wanted to go home and wrap myself up in my pajamas and then, sleep. But he was there and he just kept on annoying me. He's not a chocoholic, I know you're thinking about that. Fox Mulder is a producer from Warner Brothers Studios who wanted to hit it big as a director. He thought I was perfect for the female lead of his debut movie.

I accepted his offer, Missy. I've had a previous offer … but I chose to seal my fate with his and his studio's.

I temporarily live in his house in Beverly Hills today. I will probably be here until the movie's finished. We do not get along most of the time, but it has improved since the first time we met. He is so difficult! He tires me out sometimes, but I never will show him just how much. I will never show it to him, ever.

And anyway, he does take good care of me.

I have included some necessary papers for you to be assured that I am indeed in good hands. I will be fine, Melissa.

Give my care to your future child, Bill, and Charles.

_Anrhega 'm cara at Mama's bedd._

Signed,  
_Dana_

* * *

**End of Chapter Three**


	5. Chapter Four A: Mulder Manor

**CHAPTER FOUR A**:

* * *

Mulder Manor  
Beverly Hills, Los Angeles  
11 March 1985  
Monday

He was almost done deciding whether to bring his blue- green pajamas or his green- red boxers (a Christmas gift from Byers, obviously) for their Vegas trip when there was a knock on his door. Absentmindedly, he yelled for the person to enter. Mulder laid the boxers across his bed, beside the pajamas. He stood back and studied it like an artist about to paint the masterpiece of the century.

"Mulder." The thick British accent could always cut through his diverted attention like a hot knife through frozen butter. His neck snapped a few bones when he strained to look at her, surprised that she actually knocked on his door this time for she usually would just barge in. Don't ask him – she had caught him on the bed sleeping soundly with drool on his pillow, fresh from the bathroom with only a towel around his endowment, and last but certainly not the least, standing _naked_ searching for his briefs. During those three spectacular encounters, Scully never did bat an eyelash. She only looked at him straight in the eye and barked at him whatever it was that she needed. She also left him as if she had seen grown men naked every damn day of her life.

Scully must have been AT LEAST spooked by the last encounter if she took some time to knock today.

"Yes, what is it, Scully?"Mulder pressed his fingers lightly on his neck where he felt his bones were strained.

Scully reached for her back and scratched an invisible itch. "What time is our flight?"

He tried to hide the sigh that was halfway up his throat. Rule # 1: Never ever show this woman that she annoyed you. Rule # 2: Keep her in your good graces and she would keep you in hers.

"Within the next five hours, Scully. Have you packed yet?" Rule # 3: Be good-natured to her.

She shuffled her dirty-white rubber shoes on the red carpet. The perfect little ribbons on top of them caught his eyes. "No, not yet."

Go figure these women. The first minute they would be all too hot to handle and the next minute they would be frightened little lambs who want to chant the _Our Father._

"Is there something you want me to know, Scully?" he made sure to articulate each word as if he was talking to a child. Seeing that it registered fairly well with her, Mulder went back to deciding between his pajamas and boxers. He placed a finger over his chin, a favorite position of his when he was thinking.

"Yes."

That was too crispy for his liking and Mulder jerked his head from his wardrobe. He went back to her face … her pale face and angry blue eyes.

_Uh oh_.

"I want you to know that I don't have enough clothes to go to Vegas. And I am not moving here until I have the kind of clothes I want to wear in Vegas."

Shit. Butt ugly shit.

They were already booked in five hours! Why was she telling him this just today?

"Scully," he carefully started, finding his head in his hands. Difficult women were also difficult to diffuse, goddammitt. "Please tell me why you're telling me this RIGHT NOW." He couldn't help but shout out the last words. He was getting frustrated with her _I-need-something-RIGHT-now-boo!-happy-halloween-hope-you'll-be-traumatized-for-the-rest-of-your-life _tricks.

"Because you didn't tell me that we were really set for Vegas until today!" she reasoned out, jabbing an accusing finger in his direction. Mulder wearily dragged his head from his hand and stared at her finger. It was in the middle of his oversized nose, so close to his eyes that he could barely focus on it.

Okay, so it was also his fault. So he surprised her. So he had his own _Boo!-happy-halloween!_ tricks. It was not illegal, was it?

"I'll buy you a whole fucking wardrobe in Vegas, Scully; PLEASE pack what you have there right now," he pleaded with a precision that would make his father – God rest his soul – proud.

Scully's blue eyes brightened at the thought of shopping.

_Shopping?_

He never ever went shopping with women – not even Emily – and he was not starting now. Definitely, he was not starting this now for her!

"Thank you, Mulder!" She skipped out of his room, ballerina-like in grace. Before she completely vanished, she peeked back in, saying: "Take the boxers! They're super cute!"

He had no choice but to accompany her … she was signed to Warner Brothers and officially, since his bosses sort of forced him to, he was her keeper. He needed to take care of her until the movie was over. He needed to make sure that she got the best kind of publicity. He needed to make sure that she was satisfied with all that Warner Brothers had to offer. Fuck. He should not have let them see her dance in the first place. Before he knew it, his bosses already had individual Spunks dancing in their eyes as he shook their hands to seal the deal.

The contract did not say that he had to accompany a twenty-year-old woman to every damn living mall in Vegas.

A light bulb lit in Mulder's head. Of course!

He grabbed the phone extension before he could talk himself out of it.

And then, dropped it.

_What the fuck did Scully tell him?_

* * *

The Doggetts were the weirdest couple he had ever seen. And the tightest too, he had to add that. There was nothing wrong with their physical pairing - actually, they looked perfect for each other. John Doggett had the strut of a professional gentleman: shoulders were always upright and his smile always tight. He held his wife's hand wherever and whenever they went, and yeah, of course, he would never let her out of his view. Monica Reyes- Doggett, for Mulder, was another story. She was as complicated as Scully; probably a little lower on the difficulty level, but difficult as well. She jabbered too much, joked around too much, and cried too much.

Normally though, for a succeeding bystander, Monica was pretty (there you go, jealous Doggett). Her brunette locks framed her tan face like a perfect triangle (what was great was that she never teased her hair like most women around her and that despite the changing times, she had preferred it straight and neat, thank you)and that face of hers was always vacillating between calm and giddy. John's not bad too, and if you put them together and presto! Couple perfection! There was only one problem...  
Mulder just thought that ever since John married Monica, he suddenly became reserved, wait, not even reserved, more like obsessed. He kept his wife's picture in his wallet (John never, ever kept a woman's picture in his wallet - not even his mom's), and when they worked late on one particular shooting, the guy always called home "to check up on Monica" every damn hour.

During those days, Mulder was still with Diana. He _never_ called home every hour. Diana waited for him like the obedient wife he thought she should be.

He also used to party hard, as if he never transitioned from college frat boy to studio executive. But after John's marriage, when he had asked John if he wanted some scotch for the ride, John shook his head and muttered a small "thank you, Monica needs me at home" crap that killed Mulder. Monica must have had voodooed his best party animal man.  
Never really understanding the chemistry between the couple and why his best party animal man had become best husband- man, Mulder felt a lot guilty eventually when he realized that the reason why Monica "jabbered a lot, joked a lot, and cried a lot" (_not too much_, he was exaggerating) was because she was 3 weeks pregnant.

Way before the pregnancy, when Mulder swallowed both enough pride and beer to ask John why he was so devoted to his wife, John smiled at him like a weirdo and answered, "Because were married." _Duh._

He never quit while he was ahead, all right. So he inquired again. John's eyes narrowed, before telling him: "Someday, you're going to find someone you'll be devoted to, Mulder. Someone who'll kick your drinking crap out of your butt." Then, he made that Doggett- scowl. "Diana's not the one, I bet yah." That was exactly three months before his divorce. The bet caused him $1000. Devoted. Yeah right. That was straight right out of his fucking pocket. Rich as he was, he did not pay for that $1000 in one sitting. He was pricking his wounded pride open each time he handed John a dollar.

He made Scully busy herself with some chocolate-whipped donuts while he was craning his neck all around the Las Vegas airport, searching for John and Monica. Mulder made sure that Scully had her legs on top of their suitcases as he walked around the whole lot.

What was weirder about the couple was that they usually did not see you – you would have to see them first. It was embedded- like a really sticky flytrap -in everyone's mind that the two sometimes got lost within their own realm that they would forget that there was still a world churning hard bricks around them.

Around him, backpackers were stalking every single corner of the airport, waiting for their flights to be called. A sandy Australian vacationer made a good pillow out his thick black bag, turning his head towards the transparent glass of the airport to avoid embarrassing himself from those passing by. As if he would not get enough embarrassment from the ones boarding or disembarking the planes. Mulder chuckled. Humans interested him that way. He did not study psychology in Oxford for goddamn nothing.

He caught a reflection of spiky buzz- cut brown hair and an iron- flat brunette through a random lady's compact kit – it was easy to spot someone who had flat hair when the world's women are wearing their hair curly, big, and teased. He hurried towards them at once. A flat- out face- consuming grin found his face as he sighted the Doggetts, hand- in- hand, across the arrival area. John was comfortable with his usual slacks and knitted sweater that was three times larger than his normal size, while Monica was glowing in a ruffled maternity dress. She was also three times larger than the last time he saw her.

"Hey John!" Mulder shouted, making about twenty unknown faces turn towards him. He forgot - this country was full of 'Johns.' Accelerating towards his friends to make sure that no one approached him out of curiosity, he shook John's hand firmly before taking him into a brief hug. He did the same with Monica, planting a small kiss on her red cheek.

"Monica!" He gestured towards her large belly. Monica proudly placed her two hands on it. "John's becoming a miracle- maker these days, huh?"

She grinned. "Yes. He's been feeding me too much protein. He said it's good for our baby, _mi amigo_."

Monica Doggett was born and raised in New Mexico, so she sometimes broke through her language- barrier and spoke Spanish accidentally - truth be told, she spoke it most of the time. She did seem a lot nicer when she spoke the language, making her otherwise sharp voice all soft and womanly. He once decided that it was the reason why John was so into his wife... _si senor_. He might be juvenile when it came to figuring this out, but Mulder had this vast belief that Spanish women were hot. Yeah, literally hot.  
Not Monica, of course. Christ and Jesus. He would hang himself upside down before he would consider this woman before him to be _hot_.

"When's the due date?" Mulder turned to John, who was beaming proudly at his wife.

"This May, probably. That's if the little critter's finally gets rid of his shyness." John reached over to pat his wife's shoulder. Monica nodded.

"So, where's this girl you were talking about?" Monica asked. Mulder directed them towards where Scully was.

He did some quick explaining as to where he found this woman and why he hired her. John was part of the movie's main project, actually: he was Mulder's Assistant Director. But he had been out of the whole picture while his wife was pregnant and probably will be out until everything had settled down. John promised his assistance once the movie started, but by that time, Mulder still needed to hire another AD for the opening preparations.

"She must be good if the studio execs drooled over her like that," John noted, assisting his wife against the tide of people coming in for the departure area.

"Yeah, she is," Mulder agreed, pushing through an overweight teenager gobbling up a jumbo cheese hotdog. "She's a bit heavy on the attitude, I might add."

"You said that the _tres mosqueteros_ have christened her as 'Spunk,'" Monica mentioned, her tongue softening during the last statement. She should soften up. She was the appointed member of the board who would accompany his 'Spunk' around Vegas to shop for new clothes. In lieu of this, he had made another hand-shaking deal with the feisty redhead: Be nicest to the couple … and nice to him.

He was expecting her to introduce herself as 'Dana' again.

When they reached the exact station where he had left Scully, she was still there, her eyes scanning the whole airport, reminding Mulder of two blue headlights that had been left on overnight by a car owner. When she spotted the three approaching people, she cordially rose to her feet, easing out the wrinkles on her denim jumper (as if there could ever be wrinkles on denim, anyway). She also straightened her light blue headband. Mulder was happier about his decision to call Monica about the wardrobe problem - she did look like a crumpled up teenage, he had to admit now.

Mulder stood amongst the three. "Scully, this is John Doggett and his wife, Monica."

Scully politely shook John's hand first, and then Monica's. The woman was staring at the redhead with fondness.

"_Usted es hermoso, mi dama roja_," she whispered to Scully. Spunk looked at Mulder quizzically. Mulder did not also understand what Monica said, so he turned to John.

"She said that you are beautiful, my red lady." The man's arm went around his wife's shoulders. Scully laughed, trying to hide the crimson tide that threatened to overtake her face. Mulder had the distinct impression that this lady was not told she was beautiful very often. She should be: because no matter how many times harder than the rock her head was, it was not something arguable: she was truly beautiful.

Monica smiled. "I wish my baby would resemble you." She placed a hand atop her round stomach. "Where are you from, _mi dama roja_?" It was now official: _mi dama roja_ is Monica's personal nickname for Scully. His was "_mi amigo_." John's was "_mi amor_." Her bratty little brother was given the pensive title of "_mi mierda_"- that's "my shit" in English.

Scully glanced sideways at Mulder. What was she looking at him for? All of his brain cells were devoid of Scully info and he was not keen on filling it in.

"From Wales."

"Ah, Welsh!" Monica gleefully repeated. Mulder's brow furrowed. Really? Welsh? He never knew that. His knowledge of Scully consisted of the fact that she could dance and she was giving him hell in his own home.

"_Ble chan Cymru , 'm 'n frowngoch Spunk_?" Monica produced from her tongue with a 2% accuracy rate.

What the fuck? Monica spoke Welsh? Since when?!

Mulder sharply criticized Doggett with his eyes. The man offered him a shrug as an explanation and some sords that barely registered in his brain: "Monica spent a

whole year studying languages in Yale."

_Wonderful_, Mulder's brain screamed. _Let's all dance and do the Chippendale_. It's legal: they were in Vegas.

Scully was more than happy right now. She had found someone who could understand her own language, someone who she could talk to without any barriers. With an octave of a full- pledged British, she said: "Milford Haven. _Daleithiau chan daleithiau_."

For all Mulder knew, they were talking about how to stuff his body into the closet tonight. It was no secret from him that Monica had a limited range of liking for him. Let it be said that they did not really hit it off. He liked the woman and he knew that she liked him too, but it wasn't a glorious kind of liking. It's more civil, because John was his friend and she was his wife.

Behind him, Monica called "_John ha jodido arriba amigo_"- that was "John's fucked up friend."How did he know? He had heard her mutter that under her breath a few times before. How was he sure that she was referring to him? He was the only one there. How did he find out what it meant in English? He asked John during lunch that day. He choked on his food.

Mulder cleared his throat, snapping the two women from their same language- bliss. "Good. Now you two can get along well."

Monica was glowing, obviously happy to help Scully and even more happier that she could show off her "whole year of studying languages" skill to them. Personally, he had heard three languages in one whole day. He was getting dizzy. What he needed right now was some chilled scotch and light beer as his chaser. Yeah. He could already feel the tingle of the alcohol down his throat.

"I'll take care of this beautiful lady now, Mulder," Monica assured him. He didn't need any more assuring. He wanted that glass of chilling, sweaty scotch in his hands.

Suddenly, John thumped him hard on the back, almost making him fall onto the floor.

"We're all going to be fine, Monica. Mulder owes me some slots," John perked up. Mulder nodded in agreement. Payback time.

Before they went their separate ways, Monica leaned into John's ear and whispered some harsh words in Spanish: "_Yo no lo quiero venida buscadora bebida, John. Usted es amigo es una influencia mala. Tenga cuidado conlo._"

When they were already out of sight, Mulder hauled Spunk's backpack onto his shoulders. John carried the other two bags with his thick hands and they walked side- by- side quietly.

Mulder could not help it. He had to ask.

"What did... what did Monica tell you?"

John closed his eyes tight, as if he was in extreme pain. His friend could never, ever lie to him. Not in a million years. That wa why he found out about what Monica secretly called him - over choked pasta and spurted- out coke.

"She said... that she doesn't want me coming home drunk."

Mulder grimaced. He should forget about sharing that scotch. "And?"

"And that I should be careful of you. You are a bad influence."

Shit. _Mierda._

"Am I?" Mulder wanted to know.

John shrugged, with that unique way he would do - he would lift his shoulders until they met his ear, then move them once forward and once backward an inch at a time, until they were completely descended.

Yes. Of course he was a bad influence. His friend never, ever lied to him. That shrug of his could have been Morse code for "you're a fucked up bad influence, Mulder."

* * *

"You want her to dance in the Folies Bergere?!" John shouted above the growing noise of the casino, scratching a part of his buzz- cut head.

Mulder sipped on his chilled scotch. He eyed the glistening cold beer tentatively, before deciding that he would be saving that for later. "Yeah! She's awesome, John! Whoever - whoever is managing the Folies Bergere this year would - not... attempt to say yes- I mean, no!" He goofily grinned at his friend. John sceptically whistled a low tune at his statements.

"I heard that the man in charge of co- producing the show this year is a Jerry Jayson," his friend mentioned, going back to his slot machine. He inserted a chip inside the humongous machinery, pulled on the trigger, and waited with his fingers merging together in anxiety. Mulder also stayed calm- until the results came out: banana, banana, and a coke. Miss. Again. For the night, John already spent $400 out of the $500 that Mulder owed him. He was going pretty fast.

John thumped on the machine, cursing it out loud in Spanish. He sure had learned a lot from Monica. Mulder wondered where she taught him that side of the Spanish dialect...

He quickly shook the dirty thought out of his head. He was getting dozed. Dirty thoughts in a clean mind meant getting dozed.

"You know Jerry Jayson?" Mulder raised his bottle of scotch in the air, watching it twinkle under the small fluorescent lights of the Four Queens. Beautiful, beautiful liquid euphoria.

Doggett drew out another golden chip from his pocket. He was contemplating on using it or not when he answered, "Yeah. He called me once, suggested some dancers for our upcoming project in Warner Brothers."

"And," Mulder continued, "You didn't tell me..."

"When he called, you already had Spunk." Doggett smirked at him, and pocketed the glistening chip. He stretched his legs before him, and since they were facing each other, the tips of his sandals touched the legs of Mulder's chair.

"We should go up to the hotel, Mulder. You have had enough," he warned, grabbing the scotch from his hands. It only made the director groan.

"Fuck you, John! Let me have that!" He flailed his arms above him, fingers clenching and unclenching. John still had the perfect 20/20 vision and consciousness, so he easily dodged the yielding hands of Fox Mulder.

Mulder swallowed hard, angered by his friend's interference with his nth glass of scotch. With one last gallop, he lunged from his chair and onto Doggett's, narrowly missing the hard surface of the slot machine. They landed on the floor hard, on top of each other.

The drunk man began to laugh. This was all ridiculous. Wrestling a fucking glass of scotch from his best party animal's hand wherein he still had his chaser right there on the table, waiting for him. Fuck him. He took Doggett by the collar and laughed.

But all that was in his friend's eyes were fear.

That was the last thing that Mulder took note of before he heard a large crash behind him, women screaming, and an indescribable pain digging his skull.

Then, black out.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER FOUR A**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Jeez, I was pretty gregarious back in the day, so I decided to split some chapters up. I realized that chapters that were too long were quite an eyesore here on FF.

I am currently taking advantage of my country's Easter Break and celebrating because I have officially written the Epilogue to Book II! I'm working my way back up to complete Book II and I am quite happy with this progress. Yes, Spunk lives and she shall be completed! Shall we celebrate this with a bit of R&amp;R?


	6. Chapter Four B: Las Vegas

**CHAPTER FOUR B**

* * *

Mulder knocked gently on the steel door, his sweaty knuckles scratching against the rough texture of the metal. He swallowed hard when a nurse, clad in green scrubs, opened.

"Can I see my baby?" he half- whispered, not sure where his voice went. The man before him tilted his head to one side, indicating that he didn't hear Mulder's request.

"I said," the young man made his voice more audible, louder. "Can I see my baby?"

The nurse raised a finger to his face, a silent way of saying that he needed to check first. Mulder was growing impatient. He had his scrubs on during the first hour of Diana's labor, his mask during the third hour, and haphazardly squeezed into full gear when he had heard the baby crying inside the operating room. He was more than ready to barge into the damn room and grab his baby before anyone else did. He wanted to see his son or daughter soon!

If they won't let him see his own baby any time _soon_, he had a loaded gun in his car's trunk. He'll pay for the extra medical services it would cost afterwards.

When the nurse's face returned, light wrinkles were marred on the sides of his brown eyes. He was smiling. It was a yes! He could go and see his son or daughter now!

Mulder tucked his mask, covering his mouth and nose completely. At least it hid his constant licking of his lips. He was fucking nervous.

The same nurse guided him through the room. He was maneuvered directly to a separate room, where he stole a forlorn glance at his wife as she still being treated by the doctors. They surrounded her like green angels, some wiping her sweat, some soaking the blood-smeared utensils into sterilized water. Mulder felt faint at the sight. They assured him few hours ago that Diana was fine, but they had to do an emergency C-section because the baby's head was too large to exit through the vagina. She would be out cold for a few more hours. The baby, in the meantime, was already out and kicking.

Another nurse, a woman this time, was cooing to a crying infant in her arms. The baby was wrapped in soft pink blankets. Mulder's heart leap to his throat. _His baby was a girl. He got a girl. He has a girl._ Damn. There went his verb tenses.

The chubby nurse removed the dangling mask from her face, revealing her flamboyant rosy cheeks. "Here's your girl, Mr. Mulder."

Guy nurse patted him squarely on the back. "Congratulations. She's beautiful."

Mulder held his arms out, hoping that they would not give out when he would get to hold his daughter. His whole body felt like jell- o. Maybe holding the baby was not such a good idea right now.

Chubby nurse seemed to read his mind. She smiled at him, reminding him of his Mother's comfort grins - he got them when he screwed up in school. "It's okay. You won't drop her." She outstretched her arms towards him and he could see the moving arms of the infant.

He would not drop her.

Mulder opened his own arms and the nurse placed the baby into them. A surge of pride tore through the edges of Mulder's body as he felt the warm soft living thing with his own flesh. This baby was from him. He was part of this baby. Christ, he would forever be making babies with Diana. This was what he wanted. Babies. Children.

He pushed away the pink fabric from the face of the newborn. He was excited to see who she resembled the most. Mulder crossed imaginary fingers in his mind. He hoped it was him.

"Wake up!" Those words came from somewhere. Mulder snapped his head up, eyes wide, searching for whoever said that. The chubby woman nurse was gazing at his child fondly. The guy nurse was urging him to go on and look at the baby.

Mulder ignored what he heard and continued on. He removed the soft linen from the baby's face.

"Wake up, Mulder!"

_THAT_ came from the baby.

The baby stared back at him with piercing blue eyes, full red lips, and white satin face. Tendrils of crimped red hair also peered at him through the cloth. Mulder really felt faint this time. He tried to return the baby back to the nurse, but everyone around him was gone. He fearfully returned his eyes to the child. This was crazy. This had to be a nightmare. It had to be.

"I said, WAKE UP, Mulder!" The baby clearly said, right before his eyes. This wasn't his daughter - it was...

"Scully?!" he choked out. The baby nodded.

"Of course it's me!"

_Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

The chubby woman nurse chose that exact moment to reappear, saying with syrupy- sweet voice: "Is that what you want to name your baby?"

Mulder shook his head disdainfully. "NO!"

The nurse chuckled. "Okay. _Scully_ it is."

His mouth dropped open. "_NO-oooooooooooo!"_

"Stop that!" Scully's curt voice snapped. That was the time when Mulder's eyes finally complied with the reflex signals his brain was sending him. He stared, partially unfocused, at the blur of auburn leaves and wooden white bark before him.

"If you had told me that you didn't want to wake up, then I wouldn't have told you to do so," she whispered soothingly. Mulder reached up to touch her - to bring her face close to him so that he couuld focus, but she stopped him with a slap on his bicep.

"Just because I'm officially taking care of you, it doesn't mean that you could go and touch me anytime." Scully brought a hand to his forehead. That gesture made him relax. "You were wailing like a mental patient, for God's sake. The next time you get a nightmare, wake up before you start alarming all the tourists around us."

Mulder tried to move his hand again, and was successful in bringing it up to cup Scully's cheek. However, she pressed it back down on the sheets with her free arm.

"Stop that, I tell you!" she scolded, sharply. "If you don't stop touching me, I promise you Mulder that I'll cut your head open for the second time!"

He widened his eyes, another effort to focus on his surroundings. "What? What cut my head open?"

Scully disappeared from his view and then returned with a wet rag. She positioned the lukewarm towel over his forehead. The feeling was heavenly against his pounding head - something he noticed just the exact moment Scully pressed the rag on him. He could not decipher where the pain came from - from his scotch-related headache, or from the "cut my head open" thing that Scully was talking about.

She ignored his answer while she fixed the wet towel over his forehead. "How does that feel?"

"Great... Excuse me, but what happened to me?"

Spunk was not satisfied with the arrangement of the fabric over his forehead, so she rearranged it again.

"Apparently, when Monica and I went out for our own Vegas _excursion_," she articulated the Spanish word with careful grace, as if she was afraid that her British accent might ruin the feel of the language. Mulder found the end result ... of a British woman speaking a Spanish word quite fascinating through his dazed self. Cute, even. "... You were already filling yourself to the brink with chilled scotch-"

"And light beer," he supplied, trying to help hurry the narration. Scully smiled a bit, as she tried once again to rearrange the cloth on his forehead. A trickle of water traced onto his eyebrow and he gingerly removed her hand away from his face, silently trying to tell her to stop perfecting the folds of the rag. She did, resting her hands instead on her lap, still gazing at his forehead.

"Yes. When we arrived here in Four Queens, you were already being treated by the local doctor for a slight concussion."

"Concussion?" Mulder repeated. Really? Was that the extreme pain he felt before he blocked out? From what?

As if reading his mind, Scully continued: "From the glass of chilled scotch, Mr. Airhead, that Mr. Doggett lost grip on when you attacked him."

Mulder tried to stand up, but her strong hand was on his bare chest, pushing him back down on his bed. "Wait - what about John? Is he okay?"

She bobbed her head up and down eagerly. "Yes. Save for trauma from _accidentally_ hitting his best friend with scotch, he's okay. They're right across us, waiting for your recovery. I should call them." With that, Scully bounced of the bed, forgetting about his condition. The waves of the mattress caused his head to scrape against the headboard. Another howl rose from his throat.

Scully ran at once towards his side. "Oh Fuck, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" She repeated over and over again, trying to guide Mulder's sore head back onto the pillows.

Mulder chuckled, despite the fact that something was jack hammering his head into bits and pieces. "That must be the first time you told me you're sorry," he remarked

hoarsely, pushing some of the luck that he had lost in the slot machines. It was worth mentioning, even if all he got was an icy glare from the lady.

"It may be the last time, so revel in it." She patted him his cheek to punctuate her words, but all it brought Mulder was more sarcastic happiness. Through the denseness of his view, he could see that he was already tiring this woman. And the ridiculous idea gave him a ridiculous sense of pride. Even if her energy was partly zapped out from tending to him the whole day. He and his undeniable wit would take all the credit, thank you.

Mulder could not help the smirk in his voice, "How long has it been?"

Scully sighed deeply. "1 AM, Mulder. Exactly 4 hours since the doctor sewed your head up."

"What?!" Mulder galloped. "He _what_ my head up?"

A wicked grin found her red lips. "Not really _sewed_, more like _stitched_."

She had to be lying. She must be lying. He could not be _stitched_ up and be lying in a hotel room. If that was the real case - he should be in a hospital bed!

A strange laughter pierced his ears. It sounded like a broken record that only featured "Ha"- that sound was Scully's laugh. Her whole laughter was a string of "ha's" that came out of her voice box without stop, in pure excellent succession. It was a weird laughter, so direct, almost too mature for someone her age. It was comparable to hearing someone laugh for the first time in her whole life. However strange, it was beautiful, to hear someone as uptight and curt as Scully amused.

He should be insulted, really, because she was laughing at his frightened expression. But he was not.

"I'm kidding, Mulder. The glass only broke through your skin. It's not serious, as I've mentioned. The pain you are feeling right now probably comes from the hangover you are experiencing. You are _penwan_, Mulder, crazy," she said through guffaws. Mulder rolled his eyes.

"Fine. So you think that's funny. I'm not complaining." He crossed his arms, then uncrossed it when he realized that he was half- naked. Eyeing Scully suspiciously, he peered under the velvet sheets of the bed. To his dismay, he found out that he was wearing the green- red boxers.

He pulled the sheets up to his abdomen at once. Scully had stopped laughing by that time. She was staring at him like a fox would at a rabbit.

Wait, wasn't it supposed to be the other way around?

"If you're thinking, Mulder, that I undressed you," she nuzzled her own hand, briefly closing her eyes before she continued, "you are not that lucky. John tossed those boxers in. I suggested it, though."

If he stabbed this woman right here, right now, would anyone find out? He could pass it off as suicide. He would throw her out of the window after cutting her wrists, and say that it was a case of sad suicide. Fantastic.

But his throbbing headache left him with only one choice: stay in bed and face Scully.

Her bad girl expression shifted slightly to concerned girl. She signaled towards the bed side table. "There are cheese dogs for both of us. I bought some while shopping. Do you want to grab a bite? You haven't eaten lunch or dinner."

Mulder agreed. Her reminder of food made his stomach beat against his flesh like a whacko.

She handed him a plastic bag, and he opened it appreciatively, breathing in the aroma of cold hot dogs. It would do him enough for tonight. Maybe part of the reason for his headache is hunger. He took a big bite of the damn thing before he could even think.

Scully also had her own cheese dog, and she opened the plastic carefully, scrutinizing the food before taking a small bite. She acted prim and proper when she was not ravenous, Mulder noted to himself.

That was when he noticed the dramatic change of her wardrobe ensemble. Her hair was pinned away from her face with a stony barrette that had some rhinestones dangling from them. The blue stone of the pin matched the small sky blue trimmings of her lacy cropped top and the slight blueness of the bra she wore inside it. Underneath all the lace, as far as his view could capture, were perfectly toned muscles. Scully was not incredibly skinny, as most dancers were, but she had enough flesh where there should be. She had breasts, she had an acceptable butt, and small but nicely carved legs. Hell, she could post for Playboy if she really wanted some fame. And those legs were peeking at him from the super- short mini denim skirt she was sporting. She did not appear like a crumpled up teenager anymore. She looked like a proper lady. Monica did a great job. He should drop the pregnant woman a "muchas gracias" tomorrow.

"You look awesome," Mulder complemented and Scully hid the growing flush on her face behind her hotdog's tangled plastic.

"Thank you. Monica helped a lot." She bit into the snack once again, staring at it consciously while chewing. Mulder did the same with his hotdog, but directed his attention at her. He did not expect her to say anything more; however, she continued on with their conversation.

"She reminds me of my sister," Scully said through her full mouth. Mulder raised his eyebrow.

"You have a sister?"

"I have a sister, and two older brothers. I am the youngest."

"What about Monica?" Mulder wanted to clear. Monica was far from Scully's appearance, so he did not understand what was so reminiscent of that woman.

Scully stopped chewing for a moment, "My sister was also pregnant when I left Wales. She also speaks a mean Welsh." She chewed once more, swallowing the food at once. "You must understand, that most Welsh are not fluent in our own language. We speak English as our casual language on the streets. Our family is one of the few who was fortunate enough to learn this language."

Mulder felt his throat run dry. He asked Scully for a drink and she handed him a coke-in-can from the dresser. When he had his fill, he urged her to go on.

Scully also had a sip from her diet Sprite before she resumed. "My great grandparents were really from America. They moved to Wales because they were

enchanted by its quaint beauty." When she said that, there was a visible fondness in her eyes. "It is beautiful. I bet you'll fall in love with it when you go there."

"Me?" Mulder grinned. "Nah. I'm a big city man."

Scully snickered. "My great grandma and grandpa were too, until they saw Wales. They felt a unique love for the country, and even if they themselves were immigrants to Wales, they urged their children to study the Welsh language. They said that the language was music to their own ears."

Mulder swallowed his last piece of hotdog, tossing the plastic towards the bedside table. "You seem to love your own country," he could not help pointing out. She was staring at a spot in the wall behind him as if she was seeing Wales right through the hard concrete.

She snapped back to reality, another stream of flush coating her cheeks. "Yes. I do love Wales. Of course I do."

"Then why come to America? You could've been famous there." He never quit while he was ahead. He was practically hauling a red banner that bore those words when he pointed that thought out. He _just _had to.

Scully did not look as if his statement insulted her … or at least she did not make herself look insulted. She shrugged nonchalantly. "The Cymraeg - the Welsh will always be first in my heart. However, it is not home and it was not difficult to leave it for America. This is the land of opportunity. You must understand that - you have lived here all of your life."

Mulder nodded. "Scully, if you came here to America without your wonderful dancing talents, opportunity wouldn't have come to you."

She dismissed that fact with a hand to her stomach. It gave him the impression that she didn't want to go any further. Unlike him, she knew when to quit when she thought she was ahead. "It's 2 AM, Mulder, you should rest."

Before he could complain, she stood up from the bedside, throwing all of what remained from their midnight snack into the trash can. Mulder watched as she strutted across the room, picking up pieces of papers, straightening out objects, until FINALLY she returned to his bedside. She removed the towel from his forehead, sank it back to the basin near her, and returned it. This time, her perfectionism did not kick in, and she was done with the whole place in no time.

Dimming the bedside light, she asked him if he wanted it turned on or off. He told her to leave it on, in case of emergency. That's a subtle translation of "leave it open, I might get another concussion from struggling to get to the comfort room before I wet _your_ favorite boxers." Scully appraised his wish without qualms, then paused at his bedside.

She positioned a hand lightly on his chest. "If I didn't come here to America, then you wouldn't get your break, Mr. Mulder."

_Break? _He never, ever mentioned that he wanted a _break_ to her! He never mentioned that to ANYONE, period!

Scully wore a smug grin that reminded him of Langley's own when he first saw her dance back in Lone Glitter. How could she do that to him? Read him like a first grade school book. Was he really that transparent ? Was he all pictures with big, bold capital letters?

"Good night, Mulder." She leaned in so damn close to his ear that he could feel the invisible hairs of his ear move as her breath tickled the insides. For a tense moment,

when she leaned in to whisper, he thought she was going to kiss him. It was an overwrought and bewildering moment. His heart was pounding bongo drums in his ears, until she pulled and walked away from him, towards the adjoining room. She left the door open, in case he needed anything.

Mulder sank back to his pillows, monitoring his own head so that it would not get scraped again. All he could remember, as he was bordering between sleep and consciousness, was a notion that tip- toed across his mind:

_This woman will never, ever stop surprising him. Ever._

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER FOUR B**


	7. Chapter Five A: Las Vegas

**CHAPTER FIVE A:**

* * *

#318  
Four Queens Hotel  
Las Vegas  
March 12, 1985  
Tuesday

Mulder's whole bitching hotel room was in fucking chaos.

He wasn't supposed to get up from bed, so everyone present strapped him onto the mattress and threatened to bonk him again on the head if he moved. Naturally, he complied, although quite reluctantly. He knew from the very start that it was a trick.

At his right side, Scully was forcing him to down some green tablets to subside the mini pain that was scratching in on his skull. Unfortunately, he found out a while ago that it contained a sedative that would put him to sleep. He _could not_ really sleep through business right now. He came here to Vegas with one goal in mind: make Scully dance. His decision was already made: he would make her dance in the _Folies Bergere_, the oldest and most prestigious show in Las Vegas today. One month was his only time allotment for this agenda. If he wanted to make that deadline, he was not going to take green sleepy midget pills.

On his left side was a ragged John, who felt quite guilty about what happened (even if Mulder repeatedly assured him over and over and over again that it did no harm), decided to wait hand and foot on his friend. At that moment, John was offering him everything on the hotel's room service menu. If Monica chose that exact moment to wake up from her slumber from the adjacent room, Mulder would definitely go crazy.

Scully shook a fist in front of his face. "If you don't take these fucking pills, Mulder, I'll personally make sure that you do drink them!"

"What's so important about me drinking those pills?!" He wanted to continue with, "Is that poisonous? I know how much you want to cut my throat. Is that your lame way out?" But the threat in Scully's raging blue eyes kept his itchy mouth shut. Keeping his mouth shut had more than that advantage: At least he would not have to down those sedatives.

Scully answered, unlocking the fist and glaring at John, who was reading the description for 'Oyster soaked cabbages with fried beef.'

"BECAUSE THE DOCTOR ASKED ME TO TAKE CARE OF YOU! I'M NOT GOING TO LET A LAZY CHOCOHOLIC MAN GET IN MY WAY! WHEN I SAY I'M GOING TO DO SOMETHING, I'M GOING TO BLOODY DO IT!" she shouted those words out with enough treble to silence a whole gymnasium of noisy High School students. John trapped his tongue shut, eyes wide at them both.

Mulder's eyes also grew out of proportion as he studied the heaving woman before him. Scully huffed the breath she was holding out of her system and offered him the pills once again on her paper- white palms. "Now, will you kindly please take these pills?" Every word was punctuated with false sweetness. Mulder glimpsed at John, then back at Scully and the pills.

"_Chocoholic_?" he squeaked, making Scully sigh in frustration, and John eagerly returned to his bullshit menu.

"_Chocoholic_, MISTER Mulder, or _alcoholic_, such as you." She donned the pills in front of his face again as she said that. "Kindly please drink your medicine."

John licked his lips, patting absentmindedly on his washboard flat stomach. "The cherry coated banana split with side delicacies of - your choice - Oreos, Chocolate Chips, Candy Sprinkles... wow, I think Monica would love this. _Regalado_, ah, _delicioso_." He licked his chops once again as the image of the dessert probably floated in his mind like a wandering cloud.

Mulder raised his eyebrows, half- closing his eyes in the process. His headache was getting more and more severe and he wanted to temporarily block the frizzy auburn lady from his view.  
If only he had candle wax nearby, he would stuff up his ears too.

With cool calmness, Mulder turned to John. "Buddy, I'd really love to eat whatever you're reading there... but NOT right now. I think I'd like to be alone. Why don't you order a whole buffet and charge it on me?" Mulder caught himself before he could give his friend the puppy dog eyes.

John was surprised by his wish. "Why... no... I can't take any more money from you, Mulder. But I'll go. Monica's probably awake by now. I'll come back later." He dragged his ass from his chair and patted him on the shoulder and Scully on the back. That was the end of John Doggett and his dishes.

Mulder afforded to smile at his success. There was only one more person left.

"Scully."

She rolled her eyes so viciously it almost lodged right into her brain.

"_Darling_, please go to your room and watch TV ... or something. There are replays of Moonlighting this afternoon, or some soap opera that I'm sure you would-"

"I don't watch soap operas. Moonlighting replays are not until tomorrow, that's because Moonlighting doesn't show until tonight, 9 PM." Sure. Fine. He should have known, right from the very start, that she was a big Moonlighting fan. He should have known from the first time he saw that Bruce Willis picture in her wallet. _Geez, Mulder_.

He regained his footing on their conversation. "- LOVE to see. Please, Scully, I need to be alone."

She snorted, anchoring the asymmetrical shoulder of her t- shirt securely before it goes on showing more skin. "Why." She asked, no, barked that as if the answer didn't matter.

"I want to be alone, Scully. Is that hard to understand?" he wearily professed, cradling his head on his hand. His redhead nurse gazed at him blankly.

"Not until you drink these."

It was those pills again. Bitch. If he wanted to get her out of his face, then he would lose the chance to surprise her. Bitch. Now he had to take the second option. She specifically asked for it.

"I want to be alone, _darling_," he inhaled, feeling some bones of his rib crack, "due to my need to make a phone call for Jerry Jayson." There. He had said it. Mulder stared at the redhead defiantly, as if he was holding out a sword and was challenging her into a duel. Scully blew thin air through her cherry lips.

"And who is Jerry Jayson?"

Mulder smoothened a strand of chocolate brown hair over his pillow. "The assistant director of the Folies Bergere." When he mentioned those two familiar words, Scully's eyebrows rose up to an unimaginable height. He allowed himself to chuckle at her expression. "So you see, I need the privacy-"

Before he could finish his statement, Scully jumped onto the bed and straddled him in between her toned legs. She hurled her body against his own, almost knocking his head down to the wall behind them. He groaned as her arms tightened around his neck, squeezing him deathly. Scully hugged him tighter and tighter, until he was afraid that she would just go on and on hugging him to his demise. When she relaxed, though, Mulder was allowed to place his two hands on her back. That was when he recognized the heaving and gasping overtaking the dancer's body. She was actually crying.

"Hey, hey..." He didn't know what to do, honestly. He didn't know what was wrong, too - was she happy that she was dancing in the Folies Bergere? Or was she sad about it? How could he even wrap his head around that?

Mulder began to gently stroke her convulsing muscles under his palm. He could feel wetness on his neck, where Scully's head was buried.

"I'm... I'm ... so..." That was what he could make out of her gasping.

"Hey, Scully, are you ok? I hope you like the Folies Bergere - if you don't, I could always find another show as good as it."

"NO!" She lifted her head from his neck and shook her head hard, forcing some wayward strands of hair to stick to her eyes. The dark rims of her eye bags were wet with tears, with some streaming down to her cheeks. The wetness did not seem part of her, though - it was floating on her porcelain skin. Mulder touched one battered cheek, and swiped away the drops with his thumb. Scully finished the job he started herself. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to burst like that... you must understand: I have forever admired the Folies Bergere. When I read about them in a news article back home, I promised myself that I'll one day get a contract with the show and dance until I cannot anymore." She laughed at that thought with her infamous strings of "ha's." Mulder joined in when he discovered that she was already laughing. "It's... it's a dream come true, Mulder. You just don't know how much thankful I am..." As she said that, her face was buried once again into his neck.

Mulder stroked her hair carefully, still partially unaware of what was really happening. Maybe the gash on his head made him a slow learner overnight.

"Scully …" He removed her face from his skin with his two hands, brushing his thumbs over her sideburns gingerly. He held onto her face to be able to see her eye- to- eye. "I'm still not sure if you are going to be taken by the Folies Bergere. I'll talk to Jayson about it, I'll make you audition for him, and pull a few strings that are needed to be pulled for you. If we are lucky, we might even get a contract." A disheartening sadness coated her face, and for a flash, Mulder wanted to lean in and kiss it away -

Jesus. Maybe it was not the gash on his frigging skull; maybe it was the pills. Mulder was fairly sure that he had a couple of those green meanies before he regained consciousness this morning. Maybe that was making him think all weird.

"I'm sure you will get this part, Scully. You are a fantastic dancer. I cannot, however, promise you a nightly performance, OK?"

Scully nodded, making his thumbs push down to her cheeks. "I understand. I've wanted this for so long that I think even just an opening act could satisfy me for eternity." She grinned, a 100% genuine grin that Mulder immediately adored. He stored the way she looked when she smiled inside of him - somewhere deep that he did not even know where it was.

"What's important right now is that we get you dancing here in Vegas. We have a full month dedicated to bringing your dream to the real world. I promise you that I will do everything in my power to get you what you want," he assured her and she widened that sunshine- filled smile. When he looked into her blue eyes, curious to find the difference between Scully- serious and Scully-happy, he found out that when she smiled like that, her blue eyes were clear. They didn't darken; they didn't seem endless, just clear. Beautifully clear.

Scully nodded once again, reminding him of the time she knocked on his door back in Los Angeles, before she started annoying him with her need for a new wardrobe.

Since this is already settled …" He forced himself to remove his hands from her face. He silently told himself that whoever fell or will fall in love with this woman would either be a very lucky or an unlucky guy. Lucky because she was so precious - making you want to take care of her for the rest of your life and spend that whole time striving to make her smile everyday. Unlucky because she was a bitch mechanism – there was no questioning of that.

"I'd like it very much if you get off of me. If you intend to stay, you might as well remove your jeans," he joked, and her smile became mysteriously cute. She bit her lip, placed a hand on his chest (over his rapidly beating heart - he secretly wished that she didn't feel the rush of it), and pushed herself off of him. When her heat was only just a fluttering memory dancing in his brain, he realized that he missed it already. There was something about Scully that enticed him - not the way that lovers were enticed by each other - but for him, she was just _plain_ enticing.

Scully glanced at the pills on the bedside table, where she left them before. "I guess your pill could wait 'til you finish your phone call."

"Of course. Be totally selfish." He grinned victoriously. Scully ignored him, turning around to head towards her bedroom.

Mulder moved himself near the bed stand to grab the phone.

"Mulder?"

He already had his index finger on the first digit of the phone number Doggett left him when she called him out. He raised his eyebrows, asking for whatever she needed.

Scully leaned her body against the door frame. Crossing her arms under her breasts, she trailed her eyes around the room, as if trying to see if anyone would hear her. When she was more or less secured, she persisted.

"Since you gave me the greatest compliment for my dancing, I will give you a similar compliment. Not necessarily about your talent, but a compliment nonetheless."

Mulder returned the phone back to its cradle. "What's that?"

She looked down shyly, and he did not know whether she was truly shy or just plain embarrassed. "For someone who's 39 years old... I have to say that you are very well- preserved."

Well preserved? "Should I consider that as a compliment?"

Scully tapped on her lips thoughtfully. "Your are well- preserved in physique and spirit. If I didn't know better, I'd say that you are younger than me."

It was DEFINITELY a compliment.

Mulder mouthed a thank you, and returned to his phone call. Scully didn't say anything else. She submitted to the other room without a fight, forgetting about his damn pills.

* * *

The phone call was a success. Mulder could not help grinning like a madman the whole day, while Scully was constantly asking him how it went. He kept his mouth zipped, and as his punishment, she _remembered_ the pills and practically shoved them into his mouth. He accepted without any problems, and slept like a baby. It was the first time he had slept peacefully. Usually, he would sleep too fast to remember the great dreams, and too slow that he remembered the nightmares.

When he woke up, it was already late afternoon. Scully was propped up on the vanity table, reading the newspaper, and a fantastic spread (apparently from his good - no, best friend John) from the room service menu was set up near his bed.

"Wow," he groggily said, pulling himself up from the covers. Scully disposed of her newspaper once she heard him stir. "Wow... John must've been guilty."

"Apparently, he was." She shrugged, jumping from her chair and towards him. "Finally you're awake. _Finally_ I could eat." Scully sat on the foot of Mulder's bed, adjusting herself to a comfortable angle, then grabbed a plate. He surveyed the food in front of him, from the sizzling plates of pasta, burgers, fries, and the impressive array of desserts.

Scully, with her back to him, began to pile a plate with everything that's on the table. "Are you allergic to any of the dishes here?"

Mulder licked his lips. He was way hungry. Way too hungry. "No. I don't think so."

"Good," she remarked before he could even finish his statement. When she was done fishing through the delicacies, she handed him a full plate of food. He breathed in the aroma of luxury, loving the heat that filled his nostrils.

"This is good, I have to agree," Mulder commented, tucking a piece of fry into his mouth, not really caring if his words were not connected with her previous comment. His stomach grumbled in anger, asking him to put more of the spread into it.

Scully chose her own food carefully, avoiding the burgers and fries, settling for the pasta and a piece of garlic bread. She told him not to move too much, and she rested the plate close to his feet. Afterwards, she dragged a chair close to the edge of his bed, using the mattress as her table.

She twirled a long strand of white noodle with her fork. "Are you going to tell me what happened over the phone? Or are you going to get another round of forty winks?"

Mulder pretended to grimace. "How bad is that another round of forty winks?"

The noodle on her fork begged others to join it. Soon she was twirling a whole pack of them. Just twirling, not really concentrating on it. He bet she was more interested in what he was going to tell her than eating. "Perhaps 6 bad rounds of forty winks."

He bit into his burger, thoughtfully chewing on the remnants in his mouth. "Doesn't sound THAT bad." He knew that would do her over.

Scully groaned. "You are going to see this," she balanced her plate on one hand

carefully, moving it upward and downward, "on your face if you don't tell me any sooner!"

Never doubt that Scully will never mean what came flying out of her mouth. That was Rule #4.

But Mulder was too pleased with himself to worry about that. He was not going to keep her guessing for long, anyway. So pleased was he of himself that he hardly could keep himself from singing Elvis Presley songs with the knowledge.

_So get those stakes up higher..._

"I'm dead serious. Dead hell serious, Mulder." She tilted the plate. If she threw that right into his face, she would have a great shot. A hole in one. Mulder drummed his fingers on the bedcovers, snickering at her acid expression. She was a bad tease.

_ There's a thousand pretty women waitin' out there..._

"I'm not telling," he breathed out, finishing off his hamburger. Scully bit her lip, screwing one finger on the plate so as not to flat it out on the cushion.

_ And they're all livin' devil may care..._

"Son of a bitch. You're a beautiful son of a bitch."

Mulder laughed at that. "Thanks for calling me beautiful – I already know I am!"

"Oooh," Scully managed to get out of her system, before sulking heavily back to her pasta. She decided that good food was not worth wasting on a bastard - or son of a bitch - like him. He did not mind. He would be telling her later to keep the suspense

up. After Moonlighting - when she would have gotten her Bruce Willis fix.

_ And I'm just the devil with love to spare..._

There were no more words as they ate in silence. Mulder happily hummed the remaining bars of the song, while Scully heaved and huffed, turning her head away from his slap- happy face. She did make a comment while at it:

"Elvis died 7 years ago."

He disregarded her statement, ending his tunes with the last line: "Viva Las Vegas!"

_Viva Las Vegas..._

Viva Las Vegas indeed.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER FIVE A**


	8. Chapter Five B: Las Vegas

**CHAPTER FIVE B:**

* * *

At 9 PM sharp, Scully was _finally_ out of his bedroom, out of his back, and out of his neck. For a second, he thought she was breathing fire right into his central nervous system. She was irritated the rest of the day: sniping comments at him, taking time from reading the daily paper to just glare at him, while he sat there on the bed, still grinning like he won the million dollar jackpot in The Price Is Right.

When the clock ticked 8:32 PM, she closed the adjoining door with an earth- shattering bang to illustrate her just how irritated she was.

Mulder found opportunity behind the closed door. He sat up straight on his bed, stretching his arms up above him, getting reacquainted with the feel of using his muscles again. A few bones cracked, as did his rib a while ago. It was due to the whole day he spent in bed. His active body was not used to loafing around. He moved a lot.

The awakening of his unused flesh was heavenly. Mulder stretched a few more times before shoving away the thick covers with his feet. Without any more hesitation, he stood up, touching the soft carpet with his toes. He sighed - a sound that quickly turned into a gulp. He grabbed onto the closest thing he can catch. A sudden drop of nausea threatened to overwhelm him, probably due to the healing wound on his head and from staying too much in bed. He needed to move around. Desperately. If he felt like jumping at that moment, that was what he should have done. Unfortunately, that plan had to be foregone, lest he wanted for Scully to hear him.

As the hour sank in, Mulder made the most of his freedom. He changed into pajamas, grimacing at Scully's favorite boxers. He even checked on the wound, assuring himself through the mirror that it did not look as bad as it appeared. At least the Doctor didn't have to shave his head to _stitch _it up. It was not even stitched up. More like _iced_ out.

He was all spick and span when the hour ended, and he was pretty sure that Scully was also done drooling over the Moonlighting guy.

Mulder opened the door, peering into the small crack to make sure that everything was good. He saw Scully at the vanity table, brushing her chin- length hair slowly.

The way she stroked up and down her frizzy locks mesmerized Mulder. She constantly kept blinking, suppressing some unshed tears at her reflection. The yellow light from the bedside table illuminated her face, showing him more than he should even see. She seemed too tired for a 20-year-old.

Scully dropped the comb down on the dresser, and to his shock, she began sobbing.

Mulder did not know what to do. He was there, standing in the adjoining door, prying at her privacy. Did she do this every night? What would she think of him if he entered and tried to offer some assistance?

There were so many things he did not know about this woman, but his heart told him to help her, so that was what he did. His head did not really have the capacity to argue.

He entered her hotel room and quickly found himself at her heels, kneeling. He smoothed away hair from her face while trying to grab a hand that was covering her eyes.

"Scully? Are you okay?"

Scully pulled back from him, almost toppling herself down from the chair. The astonishment on her face made him rise up to his heels.

He thought she was going to start punching him square on the stomach when she lifted her arms, so he shielded himself in reflex. However, she only used them to wipe her tears. He waited until she gathered herself together, before asking once again if she was okay.

She scratched a spot below her red- rimmed eyes. "I'm fine, Mulder."

Mulder shook his head. Was that even an answer?

"Scully, you're not supposed to be crying your eyes out and then tell me that you're fine. Something's obviously wrong," Mulder pushed. When she did not answer that, Mulder resumed to his former position: down on his knees, both of his hands on her lap. Scully tried removing his hands, but he did not budge.

"I'm sorry, but I think you forgot a certain characteristic that I own: I never quit while I'm ahead. I'm ahead... 10- 12 steps ahead from my bed, so you better tell me what's wrong."

Scully opened her mouth in a gasp. "You should be in bed, Mulder -"

"Too late. I'm not in bed anymore. You're not going to make me waste those 10- 12 steps I took in SUCH pain and just push me away, will you?"

She closed her eyes in defeat. "I won't." Just before he was able to do his "triumphant" snicker, Scully revealed her inverted British flag from inside of her. "And I also won't divulge my whole book for you, Mulder. We both don't deserve that." Whatever she meant by her last statement was lost on Mulder.

She once again tried to remove his hands off of her lap. She only accomplished halfway, because Mulder covered her smaller delicate fingers with his larger ones before she could even move.

That made her laugh. "Christ, you are persuasive."

"Of course I am."

Scully sighed, and he squeezed her hands. There were a few fleeting seconds before she started talking. "I miss my... I'm home... sick, I guess."

Mulder nodded slowly. Scully inhaled and rather than exhaling, she smiled through her tears. He caressed the skin over her thumb, encouraging her to go on talking, but rather than doing what he was expecting her to do, she straightened up on her chair. Breaking off their skin contact, Scully sauntered over to the adjoining door.

"C'mon, hop over here and I'll put you back in your bed. You need your rest, Mulder."

Mulder, still kneeling before the vanity table, rose up, steadying himself. "No. I don't want to go back to bed, Scully. I'm sick and tired of lying all fucking day." He began to literally drag himself over to where she was standing, and through the dim lighting of the room, he saw that her cheeks were still glistening. She was still crying, counting on the dark to hide her anguish from him.

He should probably just do what she wanted, but that would not resolve his irritation with the bed, anyway. He would be staring at the ceiling all evening wondering why his star was crying. Homesickness was not the real answer - he saw it plain as day in her eyes, no matter how flooded they were.

Racking up his brain for a suitable excuse, he found one just in the nick of time: Scully was halfway towards him, with sheer determination jutting out of her eyes.

"Let me return what you've done for me, Scully. Umm..." He patted the queen- sized bed near his knee to express his point. "I'm tucking you in. You're in no condition to take care of a nosy son- of- a- bitch tonight." That made her smile, even if she still looked like unresolved shit.

Mulder tugged at the covers, flapping the velvet blankets open for her. "It's okay. I'm not going to pressure you if you don't want to tell me about your problem. At least give me some resolution. You're going to kill me all night if you let me sleep without letting me do something for you."

Scully rolled her eyes. Through bit lips, she agreed with his plan. Mulder grinned. He kind of expected that she would. When Scully's emotions were wasted beyond her realms, she was more compliable. She would lose that "Spunk."

While he held the quilt for her, she slid right onto the bed, tucking her chin over a stray pillow and spreading her red hair on the opposite white pillow. The contrasting white and redness reminded Mulder of an angry sunset, her slightly flushed face being the pseudo- sun. He paused, while she was trying to make herself comfortable, to admire her. The smallness of her body only captured less than half of the whole bed. Her frailty frightened him, because it was there when he didn't want it to be there. She was frail because she was probably inwardly vulnerable. When would lose that "Spunk," she also lost Scully. She would lose the person Mulder met the first day they met.

He didn't want that. Sure, that would be to his advantage, but he still did not want that.

Covering her exposed flesh with the quilt that was in his hand, he indulged his fingertips with her hair and closed one bedside lamp, leaving the other one open.

He was about to leave her room when he felt a tug on the tail of his pajamas.

"Huh?" he stupidly conveyed, squinting his eyes at her.

"Don't -" Scully started, her lower lips trembling. "Don't leave. I... I'm going to get nightmares."

Mulder chuckled good- naturedly, unhooking her fingers from his shirt. "I'm only a few steps away, Scully... You won't get nightmares. I promise you that." He was on her last finger, when her hand doubled- over and held his wrist with a death-grip.

"Please. I'm begging you. Don't leave," her voice quivered, making something inside Mulder also shudder. She was so afraid. Through her cold fingers, her blinking blue eyes, trembling body, dry lips. She was so afraid. He could not leave her like this.

Scully told Mulder (as a way of an explanation) that from the first time they settled an arrangement for her quarters that she had been getting vivid nightmares. Personally, from the upstairs room of his Beverly Hills manor, he had not heard her screaming or crying out loud. She was even graced with one of his personal murky dreams himself, but it was never vice versa. Not that he doubted her statement - since during their car ride towards his house that same day, she had further explained the dreams. Scully told him that she cried a lot, she could get noisy, and she fretted in her dreams. During one occasion, she recalled with an unreadable façade, she even almost fell out of a window. He did not ask her to elaborate, since, as usual, he never saw her as the "elaborating " kind.

Mulder silently did what she wanted. He walked over to the opposite side of the bed and sat cautiously on the end - doing a Goldilocks impression by awkwardly testing the hardness or softness of the cushion.

Scully's hand once again found his wrist, and she pulled him towards her. He sat beside her, with his head gently resting on the wall behind him (on a spot a few inches above the wound); his legs were sprawled before him, one arm was propped on his elbow to support his stature, and another was inside Spunk's arms. She curled against his bicep like a lost puppy. He could feel her breath tickle the hair of his skin.

He should not tell Frohike about this. The poor guy will flip.

He felt reasonably uncomfortable with this position, even if his companion seemed quite content with his body heat. Mulder swallowed nervously. He should speak. They should talk. Get into a normal conversation - one that did not require biting each other's head off - within the next cruising minute. They should. He would disintegrate into pure weird distress if they did not.

"Is this... r- really necessary, Scully?" he could not help the stuttering. He had not been really this _intimate _with a woman for the last ten - well, not really TEN - years. In one bed, they were so close he could feel her heartbeat on his knuckles. Call him pathetic, but the last time he and Diana had been sleeping in the same bed was ten years ago. It took them officially 7 years before they grasped that if they wanted to stay married, they should at least sleep in one bed - that was the final heroism for their crumbling marriage. This, however, was a different woman, a Spunk, a Scully - not any one remotely related to Mulder. Something was definitely askew.

She sighed, the sound heavenly. "Yes. I need to be assured that I have someone beside me so that I could sleep without a nightmare onwards."

"Is that what your psychiatrist told you?"

"No. It's what I discovered myself. I don't need a dodgy psychiatrist."

He should have figured that out. He forgot that she was still holding the "Spunk" title, even at the current state she was in.

"Is this... how you want me to be? Should I just stay here until you fall asleep?" Mulder motioned with his other hand, more to help himself than to make her understand. Scully paused from nuzzling his skin and then proceeded.

"Talk. Tell me about yourself."

Damn... "I don't want to make like a slum book."

Strike one for the Spunk.

Positive about herself, she pitched him a ball, going 100 KPH right into his face. "How about Emily? Your daughter? Tell me all about her."

Home run.

He figured that the ball would smack him on the face, but he hit it right out of the park.

"Sure." With his answer, Scully went back to his arm. He wondered what she found so fascinating about it.

"Emily was born when I was 18 - I was barely into college. It was a year of freedom chaos, you understand, the 60's and everything _rad_ about it. I met Diana during a pot-smoking session in John's van. John was still my party animal and I was his personal John Travolta. We did crack, smoked, drank ourselves silly … all that jazz. Diana was one of those college ladies who decided that they wanted to have unprotected sex that day for no reason at all. I remember that I wasn't really into the hippie- thing, and I'm glad that she also wasn't. She shaved, you know." He suppressed a laugh, while Scully let hers out. "So the inevitable happened, we did and did and did, without really having a real relationship. Until boom. She came to me and told me she was pregnant."

Mulder clenched his teeth, pushing the image of his ex- wife out from his head. "I didn't know what to do, really. I was young, high on crack, doping myself good, happy that way."

"Then why did you marry her?"

"Her father's a strict disciplinarian church- goer who does not take NO for an answer. Get the picture?"

"Oh. _Oh._ Bollocks. Uh- huh. I do."

"It wasn't really bad. We get along okay, we sleep fine, and we act normal. Not happy, just normal. I thought that was happy then. I forgot ... that equation when Emily was born. She almost didn't make it; they had to do a C- section to get my Emily out of Diana. When I held Emily in my arms, my slap- happy days were over.  
"Emily- came from the French word _emotionnel_, because my emotions were overpowered that day. Happy was over- happy. Normal was perfect. Emily sealed our marriage, and I didn't care if Diana's guts were going from bad to worse or if mine were ... Emily was my life. She pulled me through college, pulled me through everything. I'm lucky, very lucky to say that my very own daughter is one of my best friends.  
"Divorce with Diana was not a big issue. It was bound to come; even Emily wasn't disappointed when it happened. I believe that we both waited as adults until our own child was old enough to understand our decision. My daughter was given the choice between both of us, and she chose my custody - not that she really would be staying that long. She was already in college. She's a smart girl, was accelerated during her Junior High ... I'm damn proud of that. Em graduated last year with honors. She's ... getting married in a few months. I shouldn't really be here in Vegas, while at home, Emily's probably planning her wedding. I should be there, helping out ... however, call me selfish and all those _chocoholic_ titles you want to crown me with ... I don't want to walk Emily to the altar YET. I don't want to lose my daughter YET. She's the only one I have, Scully. I still need her. She doesn't know that, I don't think I'll ever let her know ... how much I need her ..."

The small listless breathings beside him told Mulder enough. Grinning to himself, he gently detached his arm from Scully's embrace and wiped away some drying tears off of her paleness. The image of his college English professor flashed in Mulder's mind. That particular man told him to stop dreaming about scriptwriting ... his sentence structure could put anyone out to sleep.

Now that he was here with a living proof of that claim, it was not as insulting as he used to think it was. Scully was so peaceful as she slept, her lips tugging at the corners into a lazy smile.

Mulder caressed her soft auburn frock, then leaned into her ear:

"_Bonne nuit, Amadou_," he whispered, loving the way his lips scraped against the flesh under her ear.

_Good night, Spunk._

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER FIVE B**


	9. Chapter Six: Four Queens Hotel

**CHAPTER SIX:**

* * *

#318  
Four Queens Hotel  
Las Vegas  
March 15, 1985  
Friday

The last thing he ever considered, when he had set his mind on Vegas, was to witness a one- woman fashion show.

Maybe Mulder should have done something to prepare himself for this.

Scully walked in his hotel room for the nth time (he didn't want to count - if he had, he might have been shipped to the mental in no time), this time wearing a polka- dotted sleeveless t- shirt that framed her petite form graciously. The knee- cut matching black and white polka pants gave the illusion that she was at least 2 inches higher, and if she paired that outfit with the black clunky heels she wore together with the blue Alpine- era skirt, those two inches would become a reality.

Mulder smiled appreciatively, as he had been doing for the past hour. Scully grimaced at his expression.

Before he could wonder why, she pitched the subject first. "You don't like this one."

Mulder raised his eyebrows perceptively, resting his chin on his knees. He was curled up like a little ball on the foot of the bed, still in his pajamas, while Scully had been in and out of her extensive new wardrobe. He suggested that maybe the fashion show should involve another woman, like Monica (however the Doggetts were gone early this morning - Mulder had no idea where to - so there he was).

Maybe the mental hospital was not such a bad idea.

"No... I didn't say that I didn't like it!"

"Then why are you smiling like, like that? Do I look bad in dots?"

"Scully," Mulder bit his lip in frustration. He hoped she would stop assuming things before he could even make a statement. "You look great in anything. I'm smiling because I like that one."

"So you like it," she said, running her palms over the smooth fabric crease over her outer thighs. "What's wrong with it?"

He tapped on his big toe, guarding his answer. "It's too... happy?" He should've rephrased his question with _"Is my answer right?"_ Because that was how he sounded to himself.

Scully scrunched her face up, pulling her lower lip toward her nose. She was now officially a frustrated teenager.

"Fuck," she cursed, not meaning a single alphabet of that word. He knew as much as she knew it: she loved dressing up, creating a private fashion show, and annoying him about this. He deserved it, anyhow, since he kept the audition surprise for a whole day from her since he made the phone call. He told her two days ago. On the right time track, the audition is this afternoon, and if things would go well, Scully would be rehearsing for her opening part tomorrow.  
What he got other than this fashion show punishment? After divulging the big "surprise," she screamed right into his face that "NOW I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH BLOODY TIME TO PRACTICE! YOU BASTARD!"

_You're welcome, Spunk._

When she calmed down, he received her - get this - second apology. It knocked the fucking stuffing out of him when she approached him and cradled his hand into hers, telling him that she appreciated his help and everything he had been doing for her. Mulder was too dazed about her apology and all the works to even reply.

He thought it was over.

Scully squeezed her temples, placing a light hand on her hip. "Should I go back to the blue skirt? I think I should wear denim, because I'll be changing into my dancing clothes, which isn't really much in the fashion statement -"

Mulder helplessly crossed his heels together. "Why don't you wear that ... that navy blue split- shoulder shirt with your Levis? It'll look great. Add your black leather boots in? At least you'll have some height and some age."

Scully considered it, conjuring up a clear image in her brain. A grin grew slowly out her lips when the image proved to be okay by her standards. "You're right ... you're pretty good, Mulder. We should do this more often!"

She was already skipping happily back to her side when Mulder's mouth opened to protest about "doing it more often." He would hang himself upside down first if they had do _this_ more often.

It was obvious that she considered him not as a director or a caretaker but as a _girlfriend_ \- in all the same aspects. Mulder groaned. Look what he has reduced himself into: A 20 year old woman's _girlfriend_.

The phone chose that very revealing moment to ring itself off the hook. Mulder checked over the conjoining door, making sure that Scully was not going to answer it herself, and picked the phone up.

"Hello?"

"Dad! Hey, it's Em!" His daughter's peppery- sugar voice lightened up Mulder's mood.

"Hey honey! How are you?"

"Fine. How's Vegas? Hit the slots lately? How's your head?"

Mulder laughed. "I'm okay, Emily. Been fine and had it on screwed right since yesterday. It's only Scully who's been pestering me to stay in bed ... I've been so good that the day after I was actually-"

"I was not pestering you, Mulder!" Scully shouted from the other side. He rolled his eyes at Spunk's proclamation. _Yeah, right._

"Was that her, Dad?" Emily's voice was tending, unsure. A flash from all the speculations of a relationship tore through him.

"Yes, Honey. Umm, she's staying in a conjoining room. Right now, I'm being forced to a fashion show of her new wardrobe. It's dreadful, I'm telling you."

"Why Daddy," his daughter exclaimed, amused. "You never even allowed me to give you a fashion show! Is this Spunk woman that precious to you?"

"Precious?!" he choked that one out. "C'mon, honey, you're kidding me. She forced me. If she had a gun, she'll be holding it against my temple right now."

"Right," Emily teased. He wanted to raise a dispute at that, but he remembered other important matters.

"Why did you call, Emily? Is there any problem?"

"Not really, Daddy ... I have a question for you, though. Did you deposit $5000 in your bank account?"

Mulder tossed and turned his brain over. Not that he could remember. "No. Why, is there something wrong?"

There were vast sounds of new wave music filtering the background. Emily had been a big fan of every new wave band that debuted into the music biz, and it was mostly the reason for their disagreements. He hated new wave; really, there was no doubt about that. His daughter had a penchant for blasting it in her stereo (a birthday gift from him; fate holds him by the neck that way) every single day.

She had calmed down with the new wave party the past few days ... more because she was always outside with her fiancé than to give him some mercy. If he even got some mercy, he sure did not feel it because of their manor's newest occupant.

Aside from the music, a rustling of papers was also present in her background. "There had been an ... anonymous deposit of money in your name. I've asked the bank to look it up, but they came out with nothing - that's nothing they could tell me, outside confidentiality. They did say that this deposit was a restricted matter - state the damn palpable - that the person who submitted the money could be inside the bank himself or a highly-secured account … most probably from Switzerland. That's the only information they had for me."

Mulder shrugged, "I'll take care of it once I go home."

"Be home next week, Dad," Emily reminded him gently.

Mulder scratched his head, settling himself down on the bed. "Why?" He was sure full of questions today.

"Oh, quit shoveling around. We're supposed to plan the wedding with Jeffrey's parents and Mom."

_Mom._

Mulder could not help shutting his eyes painfully at the word and the memories it brought. Life was already too complicated for him: his challenges as a first- time director, with this Spunk issue, with his daughter's wedding … and now, he had to meet with Diana next week. For him, the woman was marked in his book as an epitome of hell.

As usual, he would risk his sanity if it means making his daughter happy. She wanted her mother involved in this, so fine. He would go. He was no chicken shit. He only hated the idea of sitting face-to-face with Diana again. She brought with her foul memories of a forced marriage, normal + Diana = happy equation, and that he spent a lengthy span of his life in the clutches of someone he never really loved. He was the kind of man who did not want to be reminded of his traumatic past.

"Sure. I'll be there. By that time, if all goes great here, Scully would probably be in and out of the dance studio." He tried to sound perky to keep his daughter's hopes up.

It must have worked, because Emily was chirpier than a while ago.

They talked a little bit more, telling each other of what had happened while they were apart, conversing like their normal selves, until a car honk from Emily's background crashed through their conversation. Emily excused herself, shouted a "Wait a minute!"to the car, and told Mulder that it was Jeffrey picking her up. He told his good- bye's and I love you's, afterwards dropping the phone back into the cradle. His daughter promised him that she would further analyze the mysterious bank deposit once more before he came back to LA.

That was basically one of Emily's jobs in his life - she ensured herself as her father's sort- of manager and accountant ever since she was conscious enough of money and its importance to their lives. She fixed his payroll papers, checked on his bank accounts, and kept the whole house in one piece. He once referred to her as his "surrogate" home keeper. That was even during his marriage with Diana.

Without Emily, he would literally be paralyzed. He would have to relearn everything once again, starting from how to do the groceries for his own home to how to make an expense report for Warner Brothers.

He should have listened to Byers. The mild- mannered man had told him a thousand times that he should not depend too much on his daughter. He should not dedicate his whole life to her like a mere mortal would to a deity. He should have listened. What would the mere mortal do when he lost his deity?

Mulder still needed to figure that out.

He was staring at a blank spot on the telephone, finding something interesting in the space on that particular spot, when Scully tapped him on the shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"You are either very worried about the audition this afternoon - which I'm sure you are not - or very jealous of your daughter's marriage."

_Jealous? Jealous?!_ Him?

"Jealous?!" he sputtered, coughing out disdain at Scully's word. "Why would I be jealous of my daughter's fiancé?"

"No." She shook her head, like a teacher to a very dense pupil in kindergarten. "I don't mean it that way... I mean that you are jealous of her marriage. She'll be taken away from you." Then quietly, that he almost did not hear if it wasn't only for the solemnity of their surroundings, "I could see that she is your life."

He was wrong about the teacher- pupil thing. He was the grade- one school book once again. With bright fruit pictures, each page dictating which fruit was orange and which fruit was apple over and over again.

Either that, or she must be psychic.

There was no doubt about what she read in those oversized books, so he didn't think about lying. "Yes. She is my life. Emily keeps me real."

She smiled without showing any teeth, telling him without any words that she understood. "I admire your love for her. You must be a wonderful father."

"I hope Emily thinks like you do," he partly agreed. No father could really admit that they were that wonderful, as Scully was telling him, without thinking about some mistakes. He had done his best, laid out more than 200% of his parental skills for his girl because he believed that Emily will be the only child he would ever have. After Diana, his faith for love, marriage and all that jazz was not even a centimeter long. He loved children - everyone knew how often he discussed having a dozen of his own flesh and blood crawling around the Mulder Manor - but Diana saw it oppositely. One child, and she was spent and done. No more.

They never attempted after Emily.

It was one of the reasons why he was bitter about Diana. Maybe he shouldn't be - she endured the painful C- section when she gave birth to Emily - but no one could really blame him, either. He couldn't even blame himself when it came to that topic.

Scully rested a hand on his shoulder, the same place she tapped a while ago. Mulder studied her fingers on his skin.

"I'm sure that she does, Mulder. I see it in the way you treat each other."

He gazed up, studying her face, her red lips, her endless blue eyes. It was now an unpredictable obsession on his part to see the difference within her baby blues. With every expression, with every anger or spasm her emotions made, he would try to stare into her eyes to see the difference. He saw more in her eyes than in her body language – or in her words, even.

This time, he saw longing. A strange kind of longing.

He wanted to know about her. He wanted to know about her past - where she studied, how she could dance like she could, how she developed that feisty attitude, how she became as she was now. Twenty years was hardly enough time to mold a woman like her.

His mouth was wide open to ask a question - any question at all to pry into this complicated woman. Selfishly said, but he couldn't think of any word that would fit what he was about to do other "pry."

Mulder's planned "prying" was cut off by Scully withdrawing her hand from his shoulder, and the appearance of her other hand from her Levis' pocket. It suddenly made him understand that she was wearing what he had advised. The result of it on her was astounding. With minor adjustments on her hair (a bun, probably, would suit her best), she was a regular Rita Hayworth, with a feisty attitude intact. He breathed in, admiring her unabashedly. She was a very beautiful young woman. Any man would be happy to have her in his arms.

"Would you please put this on me?"

It was a golden cross pendant, chained delicately. Mulder hooked his thumb on one end and tenderly removed it from her palm. He studied the shiny surface of the little cross between his fingers, marveling at its simple beauty - or what it meant to Scully.

"You are a Catholic." He was stating the obvious, obviously obvious.

Scully nodded lightly, dismantling some auburn tendrils from behind her ears. "I was born and raised one, Mulder."

"Really? That's interesting. I've heard that our clan was half- Jewish, but no one really practiced." He patted the space beside him, and she sat down, her back to him. She collected her fluffy frock on one side, turning her head to her left to see what he was doing as she did so. Her chin touched her shoulder. Mulder was fumbling with the lock. No wonder she wanted him to put it on her. It had one of those locks that were tubbornly hard to open.

"My Mother owned that necklace. She gave it to me when I was two," Scully explained to break the silence. When he was finally done, Mulder placed the necklace on her neck. It settled a few centimeters from her collarbone. To make sure that it was perfectly suited on her, Mulder replaced her face from her shoulder with his own, resting his chin where she used to rest hers awhile ago. He studied it against her porcelain skin, blinking profusely as it shined with twice the luster than it had when she was not wearing it.

Mulder locked the necklace with one twist and dropped his hands on the bed. He kept his head on her shoulder, breathing in her scent. She smelled of baby powder ... of strawberries and cucumber. Of the hotel, the mustiness of the bed sheets and a faint touch of his own cologne.

Scully's breath doubled, stiffening as goose bumps invaded the porcelain silkiness of her neck - where his breath was positioned - and it snapped him out of his illusion. Mulder removed his head from her shoulder, rose up from the bed, and stepped back from her until his thinking could be cleared.

It was like a drug, crack, MJs from college. Her scent was indescribable.

"You - you should change, Mulder." Scully bent her head down, avoiding his eyes. He understood why: she was blushing. He could also feel a faint heat from his cheeks. This was not going to happen. She was roughly 20 years his junior; and this was not supposed to be happening between them. No unrequited/unwanted tension should occur. She was his star, and he her director. It should permanently stay that way.

Mulder swallowed, closing his eyes briefly as he did. "Yeah. I should."

Scully was expressionless as she followed his request. Before Mulder knew it, Scully was closing the conjoining door, leaving him behind.

He clenched his molars together, and banished nthe memory of her scent in his brain.

It was crazy. Crazy. Crazy. He IS crazy. A certified nutcase.

Mulder ran a hand through his hair and headed towards the bathroom. Icy cold water would shake all his craziness out of his system.

* * *

They met with Jerry Jayson outside his apartment studio. It was behind the totality of the Vegas strip, hidden from the night clubs and the chaos with strong chain- link fences that were monitored daily by body guards. The man made good money from being the Folies Bergere's AD and choreographer. Probably more than what Mulder made from producing films for Warner Brothers.

The patio, where he and Scully were asked to wait in, was decorated with imported and obviously very expensive varieties of flowers - ranging from Birds of Paradises to Scully's personal favorites of golden lilies. There were also visibly audible sounds of birds, probably from a soundtrack that the man found somewhere during his excursions abroad. According to John (who decided to abandon the par-tay; leaving with his wife just that afternoon), the man took a vacation for three years from directing the Folies Bergere, and with the money he earned over the time he had allotted for the show, he was able to travel the whole world. His place was decorated with bits and pieces of his souvenirs: a native urn from Indonesia, a golden Buddha from China, some Eiffel tower paperweights near the pots of flowers, a Dream catcher from Vancouver. It was littered all over the front porch - and that was ONLY the front porch.

Mulder was making trying to make himself comfortable on the bouncy wood of the lawn chair, scared that if he moved an inch, he would hear a cracking sound on his ass.

Scully was fiddling with the lilies, examining all of the identical flowers with keenness that made Mulder want to buy her a whole boutique of them. First, it was her insistence to keep her 7- eleven flowers inside her bedroom and now it was this endless fascination with every size or shape they had.

"He is a very good gardener," Scully noted, cradling a lily in her palm gently. Her finger outlined the delicate petals and she bent her head to breathe in the scent.

Mulder smirked. Scully sometimes would forget that she was pretending to be 10 years older and her naive stance would burst open uncontrollably.

"He has very good gardeners. He pays them good, too."

Scully dispelled her hold on the flower, turning her head to glare at him. An icy, familiar glare. That would count as the 7th time for the whole day.

Mulder, with his immediate and also familiar reaction, snubbed her and shifted in his seat. A groan from the creaky chair made Mulder scrunch his face up. He wondered how much it would cost if he broke one of these. It probably was antique. It looked, sounded, and felt like it.

"AH! Mr. Mulder!"

At the sound of the greeting, Mulder quickly rose to his feet, mighty glad to leave the seat behind. Hearing it too, Scully shoved her hands into her jeans' pockets, appearing like a little girl whose hand was caught fumbling around in a candy store.

Mr. Jerry Jayson was a man who had a tasteful zest for clothes. That was what came running through Mulder's mind as he shook the choreographer's hand, getting a feeble handshake in return.

Mr. Jayson smiled appreciatively at him, tucking in a flower-embroidered scarf against his neck (it collided PERFECTLY with the present colors he was already wearing: neon green, neon orange, and neon yellow). He then proceeded to Scully, who also shook his hand. The only difference probably was that he held onto Scully's a lot longer.

"Why, Mr. Mulder!" Mr. Jayson's eyes danced as he studied Scully from head to foot. Under the scrutiny, the dancer's cheeks blushed. "You didn't tell me that she was this pretty."

Mulder shrugged as he regarded the encounter. He did not know whether he should break the handshake off or if he should get going with the real program. "Uh, yeah... she is something, isn't she?"

"_Something_ is an understatement." Jayson finally disconnected their hands, and he turned to Mulder. "She is more than a something."

Not knowing what to reply, Mulder stole a glance at Scully, who was looking back at him with eyes that flashed SOS. Mr. Jayson's intense admiration was rendering Scully in an embarrassing position. As Mulder had known before that she was not used to being complimented. If you throw a comment or two at her, she blushed ferociously and would shy away.

Mulder moved closer to where the two was and lightly patted Scully's back.

"Should we start, Mr. Jayson?"

Jayson flashed them both a toothy, generous grin. A silver molar peeked at Mulder through the man's pink gums. "You could come in while Ms. Scully dresses into something more danceable." Jayson's pink fingernails pointed towards the entrance of his home. The steel door was emblazoned in bubblegum blue finish, reminding Mulder of his 5-year-old shorts, the one he would never let his Mother wash.

"I am still entertaining a friend, Mr. Mulder. Will you mind waiting? You could wait in the ballroom. "

Mulder's eyes met Scully's. She nodded.

"Sure. It's fine."

Jayson was pleased with that answer. He showed it by flipping his chestnut hair against the wind. "It'll only take a few minutes. C'mon."

The man entered his house, explaining his eccentric designs that honestly, for Mulder, wasn't at all worth listening to.

Bending over under the patio table, he picked up Scully's backpack, and hauled it on his shoulder. Scully waited for him before leading the way, carefully taking the steps that Mr. Jayson took. Mulder followed close, with his hand firm on the small of her back.

The outside of Mr. Jerry Jayson's house was called eccentric. The inside was called pure insanity. Green leafy vines hung in rope- like tendrils fashion from the roof, some tangling with the ceiling fan, and some long enough to reach the floor. Fake stuffed animals lined one wall, and the other with jarred "shrunken heads."  
When they stepped inside, Scully paused in silence, trying to decipher the whole design. With her reaction, Mulder also stopped. They both tried to see through the room's limited amount of sunlight, while their host sauntered to the middle of the room, flying his arms all around the designs.

It was a crime to call the place insane. The correct word is "freaky."

"I loved the jungles of the Amazon. I came back to the place thrice over the last year, and since I am now dedicated to the Folies Bergere, I decided that if I cannot go the jungle - then I should bring the jungle to me." Mr. Jayson swept his eyes proudly over the whole vicinity, as Mulder and Scully struggled to take their first steps inside. For all they know, there might be an Anaconda lurking somewhere.

"The dressing room is right here." Jayson danced his hips to a door filled with vines on one corner. "Don't worry," he quickly had the initiative to add, studying the wary looks on both their faces. "It's normally decorated. Follow my direction for the ballroom, Mr. Mulder. I'll be in there for her audition. "

Jerry left before they could reply.

Mulder handed the backpack to Spunk, who was seemingly unsure about entering the dressing room alone. Seeing this, he took the responsibility of opening the door and inspecting the place. When he was sure that Jayson was telling them the truth, he stepped back to let her see that the inside was normal. Scully thanked him for his effort.

"Do you want me to stay out here and wait for you?" he offered. Scully tossed her bag from one arm to another.

"Your call, not mine." She entered the room, switching open a light and the exhaust fan. Mulder closed the door behind her, afterwards resting his back on it. He would wait. Jerry Jayson's jungle euphoria and the fact that eh could get lost in the house really did not give him much choice.

There were sounds of struggle inside the dressing room during the whole 5 minutes that he was standing outside, his hands tucked firmly under his chest. Mulder licked his lips wet, glancing at his wristwatch, then to where Jerry disappeared a while ago.

But, to his ultimate utter shock, the artistic choreographer did not appear from it - a familiar, tall, and handsome asshole did.

_Alex Krycek. _

Mulder straightened up, his jaw tightening. Fantastic. So this was Jerry Jayson's _guest_ that needed some entertaining. If Krycek needed more entertaining, he could gladly give it to him - one of the left, one on the right. Both black and blue afterwards.

"Why, Mulder. Fox Mulder." Alex's voice reeked of sick witticism, making Mulder's blood boil underneath his nerve endings.

"Alex Krycek. It has been good time since the last." That is, since the last time his whole life was almost jeopardized by this insistent motherfucker. What happened between them that held like an anvil around Mulder's neck? Nothing, really. Alex Krycek simply backstabbed him to his superiors, almost got him fired from Warner Brothers, and tried seducing - and turning against him - his own personal assistant. If Walter and John did not double check on what was happening inside WB, then Mulder could right now be a busboy in Burger King.

Krycek snickered, taking a Rayban from his lapel, and shoved it up over his nose. "Yes, it had been. What brings you here?"

Ah, the incessant villain. The antagonist, always that he was. At that particular moment, Mulder had the sudden urge to lock the dressing room, to keep Scully in there, to make sure that Alex would not see her - or discover Spunk's talents.

After being fired from WB for his deeds, Alex was taken in by MGM. Even if his reputation followed him like a deadly venom, the asshole still was a great producer. The past years after their bout in WB, the two giant companies had silently waged them in on a mini-WWIII: they were both big- shot producers given a chance to direct their first movie. Mulder was offered the directing job earlier than Alex. As for now, Alex still did not have a script, let alone a plot - but he wanted it as extravagant as Mulder wanted his own dance movie. He was a few steps ahead of the bastard; however, Alex's breath was just behind his neck. Needless to say, if he saw what Scully could do, he would do virtually anything that he could to steal her from WB. And from him.

"What BRINGS you here?" he countered. There is nothing in this whole world that would make him reveal the real reason he was here unless he knows the snake's first.

Alex tucked his hands into his pockets, stopping a few meters away from him. "Gazing around; seeing who I could include in my movie."

Mulder laughed at that. "Sure. You don't even have a script yet."

"So do you," Alex pointed out. Mulder kept his eyes in a steady slit.

"I'll be getting the final draft next week. The story was already discussed, and the plots are already clear. Unlike-" He was cut off by a soft knock against the door behind him.

Mulder gazed poison darts at Alex, unsure of what he should do. Scully's already signed with WB. He should not be afraid.

The moments that passed to and fro from Alex, Mulder, the door, and Scully at the other side was tenser than the one he shared with Spunk back at Lone Glitter. Alex was raising a defiant eyebrow at him, waiting for Mulder to step away and allow the lady at the other side to exit.

"Mulder? Get out of the way. You're blocking me," came out Scully's voice. With that audible to Krycek's ears, the snake's expression changed into something Mulder never expected: recognition. He could still read the asshole like yesterday and there was no doubt that Alex knew Scully's timbre. They somehow met each other BEFORE he came along.

Feeling somewhat defeated and confused, Mulder moved out of the way, allowing Scully to exit. When she did - clad in her usual black midriff, bikini, and leg warmers - Mulder watched her eyes adjust to a saucer's size at the sight of Alex Krycek before her.

Mulder bit his lip forcefully, almost tasting blood. They know each other. They fucking know each other.

That knowledge made him feel like a big, big idiot.

"So this is what you're trying to keep from me. Your big star. The lead in Fox Mulder's debut movie... Dana Scully." Alex gave Mulder a funny look that only sealed the way he felt.

Scully did not know what to do. She opened her mouth to say something to Krycek, but closed it, turning to him. He wanted to read what was going on in her brain, to read her eyes, but he missed it purposely. This wasn't the time to discuss something like this.

Mulder held her by the elbow and gently pulled her towards the direction where Alex came from. "You should go and audition, Scully. I'll be there in a while."

She glanced at Krycek, before leaning in and whispering, "Aren't you going to watch? You are supposed to watch, right?"

Mulder knitted his eyebrows together as he noticed Krycek's expression at their interaction. The right word was insulting. "I'll try to catch it. I have other things to take care of. You do your best. Good luck."

From her elbow, his hand transferred to her lower back. He pushed her to the right direction. Scully didn't protest anymore; she headed to the ballroom, clearly relieved to avoid the conflict between the two men.

Now alone, Mulder crossed his arms again. He would not want to result to something that'll require them. "How did you know her, Alex? You two clearly know each other way before I met her."

"No, the question is, Mulder," Alex replied, too fast, "how did you get her?"

Then, it dawned on him. Krycek had seen Scully dance. He had seen her before she was even in Lone Glitter, had probably offered her a career and contract for MGM. The rat probably offered Scully more than what he did offer. Why she took Mulder's proposition, he had no idea, and he would have to add that to the things they have to discuss one-on-one. For now, he would enjoy that realization.

Mulder shook his head, smiling smugly. "Through the Lone Glitter."

"The three musketeers, your faithful advocates," Alex said, smirking. "A hard catch. I must say that I'm impressed with your stamina. You never did know how to quit."

The director followed Alex's statement with a level gaze. Krycek shuffled around the living room, creating imaginary spaces in between their conversation to intimidate him. Not that it worked - he was using the pride of having Scully as his armor.

When Krycek had finished moving around the room, with Mulder still standing in the same place, the rat turned to him with the same expression he was wearing. "You offered her money? A career - as if she'll comply with that? You offered her..." There was a slight dip in his voice as he said the word: "Yourself?"

That was it. The total last draw. Mulder lunged forward and took Alex firmly by the collar, keeping his knuckles together to make sure that the man was feeling the constraint beautifully.

"Take that back, you asshole. I'm not like you. A shitty man who'll whore himself just to get what he wants. I respect Scully, and she respects me."

"You look at her funny," Alex remarked, and it took all of Mulder's resolve not to bruise that perfect chin of his.

"I admire the woman. I admire her talent. I admire her attitude. You want a sample of what I've learned from her?" Mulder waved a fist in the vacant air between them. A flash of fear came to Krycek's face, slightly paling his lips. It seemed that other than knowing each other, Krycek also had a taste of the recognized Spunk.

"Fuck you, Mulder. Let me go." Those words were croaked out as Alex hopelessly pulled himself from Mulder. The director held on, not intending to let go until the man before him pales his face to death. He once came close to killing this man with a ten- inch knife. If it was not for Langly who stopped him, he would've done what he was supposed to do.

He's not letting go this time - knife or no knife.

"Mulder?" The unsure accented female voice behind him caught him unguarded. Alex's eyes flickered from his face to Scully at his rear. The damn bastard was saved, yet again.

"What's going on in here?" Her voice was now just below his ear; he could feel her unsteady, panting breaths underneath his nodes.

Mulder eyed Krycek, who was squirming as the paleness threatened the deftly coward man. The director gritted his teeth, loosening his hold on Alex's collar inch by inch. "We were just finished, Scully."

Once the man was freed, Alex resumed to his ratty- ness, straightening his clothes and elevating an eyebrow at Mulder. As Mulder knew Alex, you could threaten him and the hard- knocked man would definitely get scared shitless, but the SOB would walk away with more schemes up his sleeve. The man would intimidate you until you snap and finally kill him. One of these days, Alex might actually push Mulder to doing that.

Krycek both gave them a funny salute, and cautiously stepped back from the pair. "Good day. Mulder," The funny salute towards him, "And Ms. Dana Scully." The bastard regained the steps he took forward and was about to take Scully's hand in his when Mulder swatted his arm away.

"Go away, Krycek. Don't even think of touching her."

Alex pursued his lips, and at Mulder's words, opted for the same funny salute for Scully. He backed away again, maintaining some good ground, before leaving the living room, shutting Jerry Jayson's creaky front door behind him.

Once that was settled, Mulder turned to Scully. She had her cheeks flushed once again, and her green towel was ruffled on her right shoulder. Tiny rivulets of sweat were coming down her forehead, passing through her brow and to her eyes that spelled _nervous_ to Mulder word- per-word.

Even if he were itching to ask her all about the Alex Krycek incident BEFORE him, he took the good graces of returning her question. "What's going on? How did it go?"

"Good." She wasn't smiling, though, even if Mulder knew that she wanted to. He did grin with the news. "Mr. Jayson wants you inside the ballroom. He said he wants you to sign a contract."

Mulder at once headed towards the room Scully indicated, brushing against her wet arm as he snaked his way out of her melting gaze. She had that interrogating appeal to her - if she wanted crap out of him, she could get it out of him: crap and shit all in one piece.

"Mulder," her voice was tiny and far away as he heard it. He stopped, staring directly in front of him, not daring to turn and fall under her melting gaze once more.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Later," was his only answer. It was enough for her to shut up and follow Mulder into the ballroom.

* * *

They should be happy since Mr. Jayson more than loved Scully: the man ALSO adored Mulder for being able to get her in his movie and commended him for a wonderful talent. Mr. Jayson even told them that he was mighty glad that the new director happened upon Spunk before he called John to suggest someone from his crew.

When Scully cooled off with Parisian iced tea and redressed in her casual clothes, Mulder signed a contract that stated Mr. Jayson's approval of Scully being an opening act for the May 6 performance of the Folies Bergere in the Tropicana. If all things went well, Mr. Jayson promised a 3-year contract with the dance show. What that was, was more than he had expected from that afternoon.

However, when they stepped into the car, tension on a live-wire cable reigned their silence. None of them wanted to do the honors of opening up the topic of Alex Krycek.

Mulder honked at a red ford van that was snaking his way around the intersection. Oh, fine- _snake_. More things to remind him of his rat bastard nemesis. He honked again, a succession of painful bleeps.

Scully pressed her palms up on her ear, clamping them tightly together, as if wanting to crush her head in between. "JESUS CHRIST!" she shouted above the galloping noise he was making. "STOP THAT!"

He did, settling his hands firmly on the steering wheel. A truck passed by their side, and the scruffy driver gave him the middle finger. Mulder ignored it.

"What's wrong with you?" Scully cried out, and he half expected her to kick the dash board with the whine her voice had. "If you are upset about Mr. Krycek, then you should talk to me and not sulk like a big baby!"

Big baby. E- yeah, he was sure a big baby. With frills and idiot-like baby bottles. Idiot.

"Fine," Mulder dared, stepping on the pedals as the stoplight flashed a red. He anchored the car with the emergency break and steadily took a deep, calming breath. "How did you meet him?"

Scully ran her tongue across her lower teeth, probably thinking whether she should cut down the chase and shit all over him or answer his question. When she refused to face him, she was done choosing. "I was in and out some roadside bars before I settled in Lone Glitter. Umm, I happened upon a bar called -"

"Gentle Touch?" Mulder supplied. That was Alex's favorite drinking bar. He actually had seven VIP cards there.

Scully quizzically smoothed her crimped hair against her sideburns. "Yeah. He made an appointment with me, offering me drinks and a contract with MGM studios." She suddenly found the window interesting, studying the static cars beside them. "I gave him the same response I first gave you. It doesn't... matter, you know. I'm with your studio now."

The green light flashed and Mulder released the emergency break, accelerating as he spoke. "I know that, Scully. However, you should've told me about this. Alex Krycek had always been a big threat to Warner Brothers- in or out of it."

"It doesn't matter, I'm telling you. I'm already signed with your studio." The window muffled her voice. Mulder impatiently tapped on the wheel, whizzing through tricky drivers.

"Yes, but it matters..." He checked himself before he could spill it out. He should not involve his star in personal feuds.

Scully sighed, breaking away from the window. "It matters to you, doesn't it? You had a- a... you have friction with him. Tell me about it."

So much for not involving her.

Mulder hesitated. He wouldn't dare do that to her, or to himself. Krycek was another story, one that he had tucked under his armpit and filed it under "BAD." The guy was a freaking menace to his own life and he almost lost _this_ life because of the bastard.

Scully rolled her eyes, turning her body towards him this time, adjusting the seat belt so that it accommodated her new position. "C'mon. This is my business. You cannot deny that information from me. You were protective of me when he tried to take my hand and when I was leaving the dressing room. If I am supposed to be guarded about this man, tell me the reasons why."

She was right. If he was acting like an ass around Krycek - and it was because of Scully - she should know the reason why. Mulder resigned, beeping coolly at another dazed vehicle.

"Alex used to be one of my closest friends way back in college. He was the good one, because John and I were always smoking crack, Alex was the dorm boy. His nose was always in books and you would never think that he would turn into something inhuman." Scully chuckled at his comment. Mulder did too, and then continued. "Alex was - hands down - a nice, honest to goodness friend. Until he was forced by his drunkard of a father to live with him in New York for almost a decade. We didn't see him again until the late 1970's. He was officially a changed man, then."

"Did he become like his father?" Scully tucked her legs away from him. Mulder shook his head.

"No. He became worse than his father. But he was still our friend, so John and I got him a job in Warner Brothers. I was a producer, John was a producer, and Alex - with his wits and marvelous ideas - quickly rose to that position too.

"When the talks about giving me a shot in directing started 4 years ago, Alex was distraught. He felt that he needed that opportunity, he felt as if he deserved it. So he did everything imaginable to get it."

"What you mean 'everything imaginable'?"

"Everything imaginable. He backstabbed me with lies - telling our superiors that I spoke bitterly about them. He has the power of speech. He could easily aggravate you or liquefy you into his charms. The big bosses were angered, and they ordered me a forced vacation.

"Then, when I was out of WB, he seduced my personal assistan - Marita Covarrubia - to get all my files and turn against me. That was when Walter and John stepped in and took care of things. They gathered enough proof of the bastard's lies and shoved it into the big bosses' faces. Rather than getting me fired, THEY fired him."

Scully considered all of that, curling a strand of hair in her index finger. "If, that is his conduct in Hollywood... then why is he in MGM?"

Mulder turned right, following them to a bumper- to- bumper traffic. Ah, Vegas. "You cannot deny his smarts and charms, Scully. They are even giving him a directing debut."

"Yes, I know that," she whispered, almost under ear shot. Mulder did not look at her as he asked his next question:

"What did he offer you?"

"Basically... what you offered me." Scully hid a little smile. "Only twice as much."

Mulder closed one eye, on the side that she couldn't see. She could've at least been a little less blunt about this.

"So... what was the difference between his offer and mine?"

"You mean why I took your offer over his?" She raised one auburn eyebrow. Mulder did not say anything. She accepted that as a yes.

"Mr. Krycek didn't ask me what I was _really_ dreaming about," her hand touched his arm lightly, surprising Mulder. "And... he didn't offer to drive me home because someone might dare to harm me that night." She smiled - one of her fantastic smiles that melted something inside Mulder. The one consisting of all lilies and carnations.

"He's not a stupid guy, Scully. He knew when to quit."

"I'm kinda glad you didn't." She kept the smile as her hand moved towards his hand on the steering wheel. Her touch was warm over his skin. He watched as she molded her palm over the back of his hand, finding it fascinating that the smallness of her fingers fit the concaves of his knuckles.

"Look, no matter how silly this may seem... I am signed with Warner Brothers now. I am under your care. Figuratively - _figuratively_," There was a large emphasis on the word as her hands twitched over his. "I am yours." She stretched her lower lip when she realized that the words were somehow off- key. "As - as much as I am Warner Brothers'."

When the cars started moving, Scully kept her hand back to herself and Mulder went back to his driving. Nothing more needed to be said. She said it all.

Scully's right. She was already his. Scully _was_ his. He was not going to start a fight about that. Spunk Rule #4 was to never doubt whatever came out of Scully's mouth, anyway. Spunk Rule #5 was also formed that day: never let Alex Krycek - or anyone for that matter - get close to Scully. He needed her until his movie's finished. He needed her for that _break_. And she needed him for her dancing.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER SIX**


	10. Chapter Seven: Mulder Manor

**CHAPTER SEVEN:**

* * *

Mulder Manor  
Beverly Hills, Los Angeles  
March 23, 1985  
Saturday

Emily poured freshly squeezed lemon juice into Mulder's glass. They exchanged sarcastic looks as Mr. Spender - or as he wanted to be called: _Captain Spender_ \- chatted about his fabulous chateau in Paris. It did not matter, really. Emily and Jeffrey settled on getting married in the US and the couple was going to stick to that plan.

Mulder thanked Emily and moved back into his place on the sofa. He sat down heavily, not intending to snag Diana's gray chiffon skirt with one butt cheek. He quickly sat up; mouthing a 'sorry' to the stern- faced brunette, and sat back down - this time at the far end of the couch.

Captain Spender puffed away at his tobacco, exhaling out the black smoke. Mulder did not like the smell of tobacco smoke, let alone its smell _inside_ his own home, but Emily had warned and pleaded with him to be nice to Jeffrey's parents. So that was what he was doing right now: being nice.

When his ex- wife was a few centimeters from him on the same couch and when a man smoking hard tobacco was in front of him, and when he had better things to do

(like pressuring the bank about who sent him that leisure amount of $5000) than sit there and listen to an old man talk about his picturesque rest house - the last thing he wanted to do was BE nice.

Mulder calmed himself with another drink. It was all for Emily. It always was. _Toutes les fois pour Emily_.

Detaching himself from the story, he tried to study Jeffrey. The young man had his arm around Emily, his whole body as stiff as a walking stick. The boy was in the army, as Emily had told him when they were just dating. He was terribly patriotic about his country and wanted to name his forthcoming children Abraham, Jacqueline ... the man invested well in History 101.

He laughed at Emily back then, telling her that she didn't _mesh_ with the army guy. Emily was too sweet for him, too mellow, too ... Emily. His daughter only shrugged when he made his comment, but later proved him wrong when she presented to him a humongous engagement ring over dinner. He choked on his lobster.

He met THE Jeffrey the next day and found him polite - a little stiff, but at least, the man laughed at Mulder's jokes. Whether Jeffrey's snickers were for Mulder's approval or for finding Mulder plain crazy, it did not matter. Emily was in love with him - as a father, he warned her that Jeffrey's job was dangerous. If he was to be deported to a war-torn country, he could possibly leave Emily and their future children behind. His daughter told him that it didn't matter: they would be with each other in spirit.

_Fine._ So he gave them their blessings. What else could he do?

"... You could hear the birds hum when you wake up in the morning, so I've made it a point to wake up early - 6 AM early. Isn't that right, honeybunch?" Captain Spender drew Mrs. Spender - or Cassandra - towards him and puffed another round.

He smoked, told stories that were 50 years ago, and called his wife "honeybunch." This wasn't exactly the in- law he had in his mind when he met Jeffrey.

Diana was all smiles the whole day and it intimidated him for no reason at all. He thought it might have been the atmosphere - this WAS their home half the time they were married - but Diana was putting up quite a show. She even kissed him on the cheek.

Mulder wanted to wash his face clean when she did. He was almost a step away from the bathroom when Emily hooked her arm around him and drew him to the living room.

When his future in- laws were done shuffling around, Diana crossed her legs, dangling a glinting Gucci bracelet in his direction. "That sounds splendid, Captain Spender. But Jeffrey and Emily decided on a garden wedding here in the United States. I'm sure they would love a second wedding - "

"No need," the captain coughed out, forming smoke rings as he did. "We have 5 other kids that could be married there."

"I'm betting on Jam," Cassandra inserted, making Jeffrey grin. Mulder forgot - the elder couple was a baby- making machine back in their heydays. Overall, they had 8 children. Three already married; the younger three were still studying; the 2 middle kids in stable professions. Jeffrey was the 4th of all their kids.

That fact might have sounded horrible to others, but to Mulder it sounded nice. Not nice like nice that he was now, but nice. Plain nice. Having children around the house, seeing them grow up, and seeing them become their own selves. He only had Emily for that and he was too young when she was still in her early teens for him to appreciate the significance. He needed a second chance.

"We're planning on the summer house Dad has in Quonochontaug, Rhode Island ... and it's large. It has a great garden for the wedding, and the inside of the house has this wonderful living room that's fit for the reception," Emily said, intertwining her fingers with Jeffrey's. The young man nodded in agreement.

"We want something simple, not very extravagant. A total of 50 guests will do," Jeffrey added. Cassandra clapped her hands in surprise.

"But baby, I've asked my whole garden club to come to your wedding!"

"Mom - " Jeffrey warned, darting his eye towards Mulder, Diana, and Emily's side. Cassandra folded her hands on her lap and leaned on her husband. Captain

Spender patted her back, extinguishing his tobacco on the crystal ash tray.

"It's... really okay, Jeffrey. We could still afford 20 or more. Dad's rest house is splendidly big," Emily encouraged her fiancé, and turned to Mulder for support. "Right, Dad?"

Mulder was busy with the sunflower seeds, and he was caught with one in his mouth. All eyes were on him. He swallowed the whole damn seed and muttered: "Yeah. Sure. It's great."

They abandoned him, the whole clan sinking into the wedding preliminaries once again. Mulder kept quiet throughout the whole conversation, content with the sunflower seeds. He forgot about his favorite snack when he was staying in Vegas; he was too busy arguing with Scully and fixing everything for her show to think about eating some.

Next week, he would be visiting Scully in Las Vegas. He would have to remember to bring some seeds with him. They eased his tension.

Jenny, their housekeeper, appeared from the den. She excused herself from interrupting the conversation and moved towards Mulder. She grinned at Diana first before she started talking.

"The phone in the den, Mr. Mulder. It is for you."

All eyes were on him again. Mulder, clearly happy for the distraction, scooped a handful of sunflower seeds and thanked Jenny. He excused himself from the group

and headed towards the den while munching absentmindedly on a juicy seed.

Reaching the phone, he tucked it in between his shoulder and ear. "Hell-ow?" he greeted, still busy with the seed in his mouth.

A deep male voice met his ear. "Is this Mr. Fox Mulder?"

"Yes, speaking. May I know who this is?"

"Mr. Mulder, this is Dr. Vast from the Santa Cecilia Hospital here in Las Vegas. You know Ms. Dana Scully?"

Mulder propped himself up, brushing away specks of damp seeds from his t- shirt. "Yes. Why? Is there something wrong?"

"Ms. Scully was admitted to our hospital this afternoon by Mr. Jerry Jayson. According to him, she fainted during a dance routine, and had lost a substantial amount of blood from a nose bleed while she was unconscious. We have been ..."

He cut off the doctor, smacking his palms on the surface of his desk. The sunflower seeds that he held flew all over the rug, scattering all over the place. The news caught him off- guard. "Is- is she okay? What are the findings?"

"Calm down, Mr. Mulder. Ms. Scully's condition is stable. There's no problem about that aspect, but we have been worried about her mental health. She had been reluctant to talk to anyone and we had to sedate her to get blood samples."

"She was _violent_?"

"Yes, at one point, she was. Mr. Jayson suggested that we call you, since according to him, you have been living with her for the past month."

"I'm... I'm her director. I take care of her," Mulder explained. He cannot keep his voice from shaking. Goddamn it. This could not be happening.

"Maybe you would know how to calm her down. We need to keep her in the hospital for at least three days, until we get the results of her blood test. If it's no bother to you, I

suggest that you see her here in Las Vegas."

Mulder didn't say anything at first. Fly to Vegas? Right now?

"Mr. Mulder?" the doctor piped up. Mulder snapped back to reality.

"Umm, sure... uhh, I'll see about that. If I can't come, I'll call you immediately."

"Thank you, Mr. Mulder. Sorry for the inconvenience." That was the Doctor's last statement before he heard the click. The other line went dead and the busy tone pierced Mulder's ears. He didn't make any move to put it back into its cradle, though. He just stood there, appalled at what was happening. He wanted nothing more than to drop everything and fly to Vegas. However, his daughter was right there in the living room, planning her wedding.

"Dad...?" Emily's voice surprised him, making him jump. He swirled around, breathing hard.

"Emily... Christ, you scared me." He placed a hand over his rapidly beating heart. Emily smiled sadly.

"Something's going on. What's up?"

"It's..." He bent down and began to pick up the scattered sunflower seeds, using it as an excuse to not look his daughter in the eye. "Scully. She's been admitted to a hospital after fainting and a nasty nose bleed." He purposely used the word 'nasty.' 'Major' sounded too drastic. And panicky, like what he was experiencing at that second.

Emily kneeled down in front of him, and began to help him pick out the seeds. "They need you there?"

Mulder kept on picking up seeds, still avoiding his daughter's eyes.

"You should go there, if that's the case. We will all be fine here. It's not like the wedding's tomorrow anyway," his daughter reasoned out, resting her elbows on her thighs. He sighed and slowly looked into her eyes.

"She needs you, Dad. Even more than Jeffrey and I do right now." His daughter's encouragement made his mood lighten. It was true; Scully did need him. He could not deny that. It was written in black and white that he was her "caretaker." She, unarguably, belonged to him.

"She _is_ mine. She is ... my responsibility," Mulder agreed, rising up to his feet. Emily gathered a few seeds that he missed before also standing up.

"You should leave now." Emily took his wrist and opened his clenched fingers, taking the sunflower seeds from his palm. "I'll take care of everything. Go on."

When Emily smiled, he was convinced that it was all right - he could go. Relieved, Mulder kissed Emily on the forehead, and exited the den. He jumped on the stairs, ignoring the surprised stares from the guests, towards his bedroom to pack.

* * *

On short notice, he was able to gather one of the three musketeers with him. This time it was Byers, his personal favorite. That was because the man was quiet. He talked only when Mulder talked, and always told the truth. That was Byers' mantra: get rid of bullshit and tell the truth. Fuck everything else, he had to tell the truth. And another thing he liked and hated about the man at the same time was that he seemed to know Mulder better than the director knew himself. Really.

They arrived in the hospital approximately five hours after his conversation with the doctor on the phone. Mulder pushed through rushing nurses and doctors in the ER, until he reached the information center.

"Hi. My name's Fox Mulder and am looking for a patient named Dana Scully."

The blond nurse shuffled through some records and told him to go to a room 201. Mulder complied immediately, with Byers - his personal puppy- at his heels.

The elevator ride took an eternity for Mulder. He was sweating profusely, his body still not used to all the running and the overwhelming heat spring was starting to kick in. Byers remained by his side, carrying yellow lilies from the airport's flower shop. They made a side trip, since the flowers immediately reminded him of Scully. Maybe it would help calm her down.

In the hallway, they met a mild- mannered doctor, whom Mulder immediately took as _the_ Dr. Vast. They shook hands firmly. Mulder then introduced his companion to the Doctor after their meeting.

"Thank you for coming. We knew we could count on you," Dr. Vast greeted, and they wasted no time as they walked towards Scully's room.

"What exactly happened, Doctor?" Byers finally spoke out, hugging the vase of lilies close to his chest. His squeaky shoes rubbed on the shiny marble tiles of the hallways. Mulder caught a grimace from the Doctor before the man answered.

"Mr. Jayson mentioned an ongoing practice in his gymnasium when Ms. Scully complained of dizziness. Stopping the rehearsal," the Doctor turned a sharp right, leading them to another hallway that was dimly lighted with fluorescents that could hardly fill the small gaps of the windows. The atmosphere made Mulder feel more nervous. He kept his hands inside his pockets to hide the sweat.

"Mr. Jayson said that Ms. Scully complained of vertigo, and by that time, she was already extremely pale. She fainted not long afterwards." Dr. Vast waved a pleasant _hello_ to a curvaceous nurse that was exiting a private room. The nurse snubbed him, then smiled at Mulder. The director disregarded it. He was too busy listening to Dr. Vast to notice the nurse's come-on.

"The crew tried hard to revive Ms. Scully; however, while that was happening, she had a nosebleed: a quite severe epistaxis. The bleeding became alarming that they immediately rushed her here. She was in danger of going into a hypovolemic shock. We were able to stabilize her condition, fortunately, and she regained consciousness within the next hour."

Dr. Vast had led them to a small corridor, where they found Jerry sitting down on the lounging chairs. At the sight of them, the colorful man rose up, smiling forlornly at Mulder and Byers.

"That was when everything got messy, Mr. Mulder." The doctor waved his hand towards the room opposite Jerry. Mulder took a moment, before he looked into the slightly opened blinds.

Through the slits, he could make out Scully, who was dejectedly huddled on the bed, with her back arched against the head board. She had her face buried in between her knees, her hair tousled all over her head, and her whole body was shivering in extreme fright. Mulder quickly turned away. Seeing Scully like that scared him, for she was so different from her usual self. Mulder turned to his companions, who were all obviously waiting for his reaction.

"She's been crying. I can tell. She's scared crazy ... what did you do to her?" He composed himself enough to say those words without anger snarling out of them. There was fire in his eyes, though and the three people caught it. When Dr. Vast spoke, he did so gently, obviously regarding Mulder's reaction with care.

"We sedated her, Mr. Mulder. We collected some blood so we could run tests to make sure we isolate the cause of her epistaxis - but we promise you, we didn't -"

Byers once told him that he had a habit of cutting people off before they could finish their train of thought. When his faithful friend gave him the "Byers' warning/blinking-eyes look" as a signal, Mulder snatched the flowers out of his friend's hand and entered the room, leaving the three outside in complete, utter surprise.

The scrape of the vase against the empty bed table echoed across the sullen room, and the mere sound of it almost made Mulder jump. He calmed his pounding heart by pretending to rearrange the flowers (not that it mattered; there was not much contrast with yellow and yellow), while stealing forlorn glances at Scully.

Mulder was not sure whether it was only to him that his settling of the vase seemed so noisy ... Scully was not giving any indication that she gave a fuck about his presence. Her head was still buried in between her knees. She moved sometimes, Mulder noticed as he stood there stupidly, waiting for a sign from her so that he could approach. Scully rearranged the position of her feet and rubbed them on the mattress. The sheets around her thin body creased even more as she did that.

He swallowed, anticipating her reaction if he surged forward and asked how she felt. This time, he was not going to take "I'm fine" as an answer. She gave him that same reply every time he asked her if she was okay.

Mulder closed his eyes briefly, and then inched his way towards the bed. He sat down lightly on a spare space, a few inches from Scully, making sure that he didn't put all of his weight on the mattress. He wouldn't know how she would react, would he?

"Sc -" he started, his breath hitching in his throat. He was stopped by the sound coming from the woman before him.

"If you are here to talk to me - don't bother. I won't talk." She lifted her face from her legs, surprising Mulder with her deathly paleness. She was as white as the sheets around her - probably even whiter. Her tears pooled around her eyes and dried on her cheeks, leaving behind barely visible brown tracks of where they once were. Mulder had to stop himself from reaching over and wiping them dry - he had more help with Scully's fiery blue eyes in that aspect.

"I don't need you to talk," he admitted, clenching his fists as her mouth twitched in surprise. "I... just want you to listen."

"I won't do that either," she stubbornly conveyed, angling her face so that they were looking at each other eye-to-eye. Mulder's fist tightened.

"What do you want to do?" He would argue with her. It was what they both did best: argue and tire each other out. That was what he was going to do. He would tire her out and before she even knew it, he would be able to talk her into calming down.

There was a catch to that: Mulder's physical faculties were not much help. He had been jet- setting all around LA to catch some things before leaving, booked a flight for Las Vegas in no time, and headed to the hospital once they arrived. He had not slept well last night because of pre- wedding planning jitters, and this fact probably showed right now.

Did he mention that Dr. Vast hadn't told Scully that she needed to stay for three more days? Shit.

Scully's lower lip trembled. "I want to leave. I don't want to stay here." She pronounced them with forced confidence. Mulder breathed in.

"Scully, please understand..."

"How many days do I have to stay in this hell- hole?"

Mulder was taken aback by her sudden question. His first intention was to stall her with his words, but he remembered that she wouldn't listen to him, anyway. She would only lend him her ears when he would answer her questions.

"Three days. Only three days." He made it sound so simple, as if those three days did not matter. "They want to make sure that they can rule out any other possible causes for your sudden bleeding."

He blinked and Scully's expression changed to extreme panic.

"I...I'm... not staying here... that long," she said, and he could not determine whether the sound of teeth chattering were coming from her or from him. Mulder licked his lips and assured himself that it was not from him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Scully, you are sick. If we recall what happened to you - according to Mr. Jayson, you fainted and had extreme blood loss. They need to monitor you for your own safety. You'll get a blood transfusion soon-"

"BULLSHIT! I WANT TO LEAVE!" she shouted, cutting him off with a hiss. Mulder's hands dropped to his side and his eyes widened at her sudden outrage.

Scully's face was now flushed with the mixture of panic and anger, though he could tell that she had already put in half of all the energy she had into shouting.

"You cannot leave. I will personally not allow it until you are well enough to do so. You can't control this, Scully. This is your fucking health."

"Let me go, Mulder. You don't... understand!" She clutched her legs against her body once again, wrapping her arms around them protectively. Tears were dripping from her eyes, and Mulder was struck with the fear at the sight of Scully crying too much. Her already weak body might get aggravated.

"I don't want to argue with you anymore, Scully. I'm not going to fight you today," he cleared, knowing that he himself did not have the energy to continue with his initial plan. He stretched his hand towards her feet, hesitating as he touched her there. Her toes were freezing. Scully flinched when his palm came in contact with her feet, though they were under the blankets. His warmth was colliding with her coldness.

"You don't understand." Her voice was softer. She was watching his fingers curled around her toes, trying to fuse his some of his heat into her.

"What don't I understand?" He squeezed her feet encouragingly. She jumped back a bit when he did that, but did not react any further.

"N... I'm..." She was cautious about it, Mulder realized. So he inched closer and took her hand in his, caressing the back of it gently. The softness was familiar to him, but the cold that invaded the tips of her fingers were alien.

Scully let another tear appear. "I'm afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

She tried to pull her hand back from him, but he held on. She let him hold it while she talked: "This place!"

Mulder guessed that if she would have had the strength, that would probably be right into his face.

"Afraid of hospitals?" He gripped her hand and Scully finally gave up.

"Yes," she whispered, dejectedly lowering her arm, taking his with it.

He tired her out. Scully only made confessions when she was dead tired.

Mulder tucked her hand into his stomach and drew closer until he had his whole body against hers. She convulsed in anxiety as he did that, but relaxed when her head met his chest. His breathing also slackened and that helped her calm down against him. Mulder placed his chin on her head, rounding his other hand over her waist and gripping her close to him.

It didn't surprise him that they were hugging... what surprised him was how comfortable it felt. He did not want to let her go.

"I'm sorry, Scully... but you have to stay here. You are mine, remember? And it's my responsibility to take care of you. That's ultimately what I'm going to do."

She sobbed. He could feel the wetness of her tears against his own skin. That desperation tore Mulder up. He didn't want her to cry any more. If she cried another round, she could dry up and disintegrate into nothingness.

"Tell me how to make it better for you," he said hoarsely, stroking her frazzled red hair, combing through the knotted strands delicately.

"I... don't... know..." Each word was punctuated with an intake of breath. Mulder blinked and pressed his cheek on the top of her head. He hoped she would stop shutting herself and start talking. At least he had a fighting chance against that. Spunk Rule # 6 is now formed: tire her out so she would start opening up bit by bit. It was a hard task, since she also easily tired Mulder out, but it was worth a try.

"You're my responsibility, Scully. Tell me how I could make this better for you, so I won't worry."

She rubbed her eyes on his shirt, and through a muffled voice, she was able to say: "Please stay with me. Don't leave me, please. I had a nightmare today... the sedation... and there was no one here. No one heard me or helped me."

Mulder nodded, letting some strands stick to his face as he did so. "I won't leave you," he promised. He squeezed her hand in his, making him remember that he was still holding her fingers in a death grip. It didn't matter. He probably wouldn't let go of her for a long, long time.

He felt empowerment within him ... an over protectiveness for the lady. Maybe her statement to him last week went straight to his head, but he could not deny the strong feeling. He wanted to take care of her for as long as she would allow him to.

She was his. He owned her until the movie ran. He would make sure that the task at hand was taken care of - no matter how challenging it was. He will never back out. He never did.

Scully continued to cry, and he tried his best to hush her. She was still talking as the last sobs escaped from her throat. Her voice was spent and she could do nothing but whisper. "Don't leave me, please, Mulder. Don't leave me, please. I don't want to dream anymore."

"I won't leave, Scully. I won't," he replied. That got her to stop, and they settled down.

Scully was still against him, but he loosened his grip on her. His two hands were flat on her back this time, and hers were limp at her sides. That was the moment when

Byers chose to enter the room and study the situation at hand.

"She's fine. We're going to be fine," Mulder told Byers even before the man could ask him. The Musketeer nodded, still intent on both of them.

"Byers, could I ask you for a favor?" He had his back to his friend, so it was hard for him to see the man's expression. Scully was watching the Musketeer from his shoulder, peeking at him with her sensitized red eyes.

"Anything," Byers replied.

"Uhh, could you call Emily for me? Tell her I won't be able to go home any time this week. I'm staying here until Scully's all fine."

When Scully heard those words, she pushed herself away from Mulder and stared at him as if he was the most impossible man in the world. "No, Mulder. Go home ... I don't want to be a bother." Her desperate tone was replaced by a façade of courageous attitude and he could see that she was fighting the fright and panic that was rising again within her. He admired her courage and generosity; however, he was not going anywhere. She was his responsibility. He had to stay with her.

"You're no bother, Scully. It is okay. Emily understands."

"No... you see..."

"I want to stay, Scully," he firmly stated and she quieted down.

Now that they were apart from each other, he turned his body towards Byers. The man was still standing in the middle of the room, and when he had Scully in full view, he waved a little. Scully waved back, forcing a smile on her lips.

"Tell Emily that everything's going to be fine, and she doesn't need to worry. They should go on without me; I'll catch up next week. Will you do that, Byers?"

Byers nodded, and left without a word.

With that settled, Mulder returned his attention to his Spunk. He rose from the bed and tucked her under the covers. While she was trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in, Mulder straightened out the covers around her, knowing that if she woke up clear- headed the next day she'd be irritated by the creases.

Scully laid down on her right side, facing his body. Mulder tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, and leaned into her ear.

"I'm not going to leave you, Scully. You should have a nice night."

When he drew back, she was already passive. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, tugging also at an invisible chord in Mulder's heart.

* * *

He had to take advantage of the time Scully spent sleeping. He knew that she would not let him out of her sight when she came around, so he fixed everything that needed to be fixed.

Generously, Mr. Jayson and Byers offered to push the stiff hospital bench outside Scully's room for him, since he was staying the night and there was no way he could rest contentedly on the stool that was supplied in the room. It was only fit for the basket of fruits that he asked Byers to get for Scully. The grateful doctors and nurses also offered extra blankets and pillows for him; a slight consolation prize for getting Scully to calm down after hours of screaming her head off.

When all was done (Emily was phoned and assured, Mr. Jayson thanked and given the opportunity to attend to his businesses), Byers pulled Mulder by the arm before he could enter Scully's room.

"What?" Mulder twisted his head towards his friend, pulling back his arm.

Byers scratched his beard, messing the fine strands. Compared to Mulder, though, the Musketeer looked better by a hundred percent. "Are you sure you want to stay here alone? I could sit up with you, Mulder."

"I'll be fine. You go and rent a hotel nearby. I'll call you if something goes wrong." Mulder smiled feebly, and then headed once again towards the room - only to be stopped by Byers once again. When he heard his name uttered, he sighed and faced his friend with annoyance.

"If there's something you want to tell me, please do it now," he pushed, standing in front of the man chest-to-chest. He found out - from the time Byers entered that hospital room and took a visible note of his hug with Scully - that an idea was pecking at the back of the man's head.

Mulder prepared himself for whatever Byers would be saying. As he had once noted to himself, Byers could read him pretty well – the only other person who could do that was Scully- but Byers had been doing that ever since he met the three stooges. He valued whatever his friend advised him, even if sometimes it got downright irritating that this person could know you very well without even trying.

Byers loosened the green tie on his suit. Mulder stared at a spot on his friend's head, not wanting to look into his eyes and give himself away.

"You obviously care for her, Mulder-"

"I _take_ care of her, Byers," he corrected, putting his hands on his hips. The man lifted his eyeglasses, and started cleaning it with his gray suit jacket. Byers had a penchant for being clean- cut. He always wore a tie and suit, as if he was a government employee, contrary to his real occupation. It was what he was most comfortable in, coming from a highly socialized family himself.

"Stop cutting people off, Mulder," Byers sternly chastised him, pausing at his task to glare at him. Mulder didn't react, and Byers took that as a sign for him to carry on. "Let me finish. I want to help you, I want to make sure you won't get hurt in the end."

"I wouldn't get hurt _what_?" It all sounds incredulous to Mulder, a big giant puzzle piece. He could not connect one end of Byers' statement to the other ... he was not even sure he wanted to retrieve the last puzzle piece. He was not THAT steadfast about what the lecture was about this time. He maybe should also reconsider Byers as his favorite Musketeer.

"Get hurt by her. C'mon, Mulder. I see the way you treat her and I see the way you care for her. You have to understand that she'll be leaving after the movie..."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Mulder held his two hands up, shutting Byers up. He wiped away a drop of sweat that threatened to invade his eyesight, and then held his hand back up against Byers. "What are we talking about here? Is this at all important, Byers? Fine, so I care for her. What's wrong with that? Is it wrong to care for someone nowadays?"

"No, I don't mean it that way, Mulder." His friend shoved his hands away. They landed on Mulder's sides, defeated. "Emily will be leaving you soon. This must be one of the hardest times of your life - and I believe that you can pull through it - however, you cannot-"

He shouldn't cut people off. Scrap that fucking idea. "I can't use Scully as Emily's replacement - is that it? Is that what you want to tell me, Byers?"

The suited man caught his eyes and held them evenly in his stance. "She will eventually have to move on after your movie. Spunk has her own life. Sooner or later she would want to go and explore her avenues in Hollywood. She cannot be your new _deity_..."

"First of all," Mulder held a finger up in the air, resisting the urge to hold up his middle finger to end the damn conversation. "I am not using Scully as Emily's replacement or as my _new_ deity - because no one can replace Emily. Second, I understand that she would be moving on after this and I'm going to encourage her to do just that. Third, I am only here as her friend. She needs me, and I'm here for her. Is that all wrong? What's so damn wrong about all of that?"

"The last part - _you_ need her."

Mulder laughed. That was funny. Very funny AND outright rude of Byers to correct his own statement.

"You are my friend, Byers. One of my closest ones. Don't make this mistake. I don't need her. I'm fine as her friend, and I'm sure that she's also fine as mine. If ever I do need her, it's only for the movie. Scully and I both talked about that a long time ago."

"You need her," the Musketeer insisted, making Mulder groan. That was vehemently ignored. "I can see it in the way you held her ... look, nothing's wrong with admitting that ... I'm only worried about you. And her."

"Fine. Say that I need her. Say that I am that needy bastard SOB that you are pushing on me." Before Byers could cut him off, he continued firing his bullets. He had to know where this conversation was going. "What's to worry about?"

"You don't know anything about her, Mulder. She's going to hurt you in that aspect. She keeps secrets ... why she has nightmares, why she has this fright of hospitals ... you should know that. You should be wary of that. Why she's all Spunk and the next minute she's submitting herself to you, telling you that you _own_ her. Mulder, she will hurt you because she does not tell you anything. Not a single cent of her past."

"Whoa. How did you know about her nightmares?"

"She complained about them once during her times in the Lone Glitter," Byers explained, shifting his solid stand. "Spunk told us that she was having a dreadful headache that day. She didn't have enough sleep because she had a nightmare. With the eye bags she was sporting for the whole week ... we kind of did the math."

Mulder tilted his head to one side. "Okay. Fine. So what am I supposed to be worried about again?" He could not understand or see Byers' point. Sure, the girl was secretive. She would not tell Mulder anything personal unless he pushed too hard. That was not bad, was it?

"Her past. You should be worried about her past. It's not pretty. I could tell. It's haunting her."

"Byers, that is none of my business. If she wants to tell me something, she could. I'm there for her." Mulder turned his back on his friend, and figuratively (in his own mind) also turned his back on what Byers was trying to insinuate. There was nothing to worry about!

He entered the room, freezing when he saw Scully inhale in her sleep. Her nose twitched as she grabbed a handful of blankets towards her, and hugged tight. She looked like an ethereal angel. Really. In her sleep, that was. Mulder grinned.

There was nothing to worry about. There would not be anything to worry about. He was sure of it.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER SEVEN**


	11. Chapter Eight: Saint Cecilia Hospital

**CHAPTER EIGHT:**

* * *

Room no. 201  
Santa Cecilia Hospital  
Las Vegas  
March 24, 1985  
Sunday

He didn't know how long he must've dozed off, but when he opened his eyes, he found Scully staring intently at him. He blinked several times to clear his blurred view, while she patiently waited for him to rouse from his sleep. He yawned heavily, eliciting a loud noise from his throat that echoed in the quiet room. When he returned his attention to Scully, she was smiling at him. That brightened him up. He scratched on his shoulder and yawned yet again.

"Hey," he greeted when he finished, this time stretching his long arms above his head. A few joints cracked in the process, which further widened Scully's smile. Mulder thought that she could brighten up a thunderstorm with that grin of hers.

"Hey," she answered back, tucking a hand under her chin. Her messy hair bundled up behind her, and Mulder had to laugh at her appearance. It was so _un- Scully_.

"I must look dreadful." She was a smart woman: taking clues and piecing them together.

Mulder mimicked her position, letting the amusement dance in his sleepy eyes. "No. You look okay for a patient. Do you need anything?"

She thought carefully, scrunching up her face and making little lines appear in the middle of her forehead. "I want to brush my teeth." Scully shyly turned her head away from him. "I mean; I feel so dirty. I cannot take dirty. At least let me brush my teeth, comb my hair... get this dextrose out of my arm..." She rattled her right arm with the IV. Mulder laughed.

"You're not that lucky, Scully." He stood up, lifting his arms towards the ceiling to have that full body stretch his muscles were pleading for. Mulder tossed the now useless white sheets on the bench, crumpling them up on one side and placing the pillow on top of them. Scully grimaced at the mess in front her.

"You should fix that. I know I would," she remarked. Mulder moved over to the table and picked up the basin he asked Byers to get last night.

"I _know_ you would. But you can't do much about it right now, can you?" he teased, making her put on the most adorable scowl. Even with her dark eye bags and tousled hair, she still looked beautiful to Mulder. He opened Scully's trusty backpack (Mr. Jayson himself packed her things for her three- day stay in the hospital) and grabbed her green toothbrush with her toothpaste. He saw her comb and tucked it under his arm.

Scully was trying to comb her stringy hair with her fingers. It wasn't working as well as she wanted it to. "Dear Jesus, this is horrible. I have a companion who's bitching at me; a bad, bad, bad hair day, and I feel so untidy. What more could you do to me?" She gazed up the white ceiling, giving out her best "pity-me" look. Mulder went on to get one of the mineral water bottles that was left in the room and turned to Scully.

"I'd be bitching at you for three days, Scully. Here." He handed her the basin and the toothbrush utensils. She held the basin with both her hands and waited for him to finish pouring water on a plastic cup. Everything they needed was in the hospital room. He wasn't a Boy Scout special award recipient back in grade school for nothing.

Holding the basin to her face, they were able to maneuver quite well. Scully had her teeth brushed squeaky clean and even had her face washed. When that was done, he gave her the comb and she started brushing through the knotted strands with a wince here and there.

Mulder positioned himself on the bedside, anchoring his feet on his hospital bench beside the bed. He moved his temporary bed nearer to Scully so that he would be able to hear her if she ever needed him throughout the night.

"How are you feeling?"

Scully rubbed her eye with one hand and continued to wrestle with her hair using the other. "I'm fine, Mulder. I feel a lot better than yesterday. Do I still look pale?"

He cracked his knuckles absentmindedly. "Yeah. I guess you still do."

She didn't say anything and he didn't either. They were sharing a nice, comfortable, and rare (for Mulder) kind of silence.

They couldn't stay silent that way forever, unfortunately, so Mulder stood up and went over to the fruit basket. He began to hold up some fruits, asking which one she wanted to have for breakfast. A quick check on his wristwatch told him that it was only 6:32 AM – the hospital's breakfast did not come until 7 AM. She needed her nourishment for the time being.

She picked the pears for herself. He added an apple for himself.

They were already munching on the fruits when Scully opened up a topic that he didn't expect from her.

"Thank you for your help, Mulder. And for the beautiful lilies," she said, taking a big bite out of her fruit, which effectively hid her face from him.

Mulder smiled and was pleasantly surprised that she had said that. He had assumed that Scully was already his responsibility and that it wasn't necessary for her to keep thanking him. "It's... it's my job, Scully: to help you when you need me to."

She offered him a grin - that lilies-and-golden-summer grin of hers in return for his comment. And Mulder seriously believed in that moment, while she munched on her pear and smiled at him, that the whole day didn't matter anymore. All Scully had to do was smile that smile of hers and everything was going to be fine.

Everything was going to be okay.

He sat on that same hard bench, his hands clasped before him as if in a reverent prayer, facing Scully and her all- knowing look. They were spending the third and supposed last day in the hospital room with quiet glances at each other and Scully's aggressive gaze effectively conquered his own. He half wondered whether the news he had for her will have the same adverse effects that the news of having to stay in the hospital for three full days had, and he lengthened his arms before him, touching the cold metal of her bed's legs.

"What did Dr. Vast say Mulder?" Her tone matched her face, giving Mulder the perfect excuse to look down at his hands.

He had to spill it. She was an adult; she would take it as calmly as someone her age and stature would. So he did, spilling it all out in one breath.

"You need to stay two more days for another blood transfusion because the first one wouldn't be able to sustain your health for your upcoming physical performances." There he said it. It wasn't that drastic, was it?

Scully bobbed her head up and down composedly, swallowing once or twice as he knew that she was tucking her emotions beneath her heart. She had enough breakdowns in front of him and he understood her holding out this time around. Scully was a reserved woman. What he witnessed before - the vulnerable side of her – was unintentional; he could sense that was more than embarrassed about it and that she would now do everything in her power to stop herself from further breaking down.

"Another two days," she voiced out, finally. Apparently, those words were the only ones that mattered with what he had said.

"I'm staying here, if that's... that could make you feel better."

Scully managed a weak laugh, a different one from her giddy "ha's." It was more like a gasp to Mulder. "What am I suffering from?"

Mulder raised his head, giving up his fight and waving a white flag as he looked into her eyes. The blue hues were clouded, with tears pooling at her irises – but not falling, he took note of that. He couldn't help but admire her courage. "Anemia. Umm..." Mulder gathered all the facts that Dr. Vast had mentioned to him within a second, and he was ready to divulge them all out from his fabulous memory when Scully cut him off with her OWN explanations.

"Iron- deficiency anemia, pernicious anemia, or sickle- cell anemia?" Her voice shook as she carelessly recited those medical terms, and with her thick British accent, Mulder could hardly digest what she had just said. He thought he had a good idea, but still asked her to repeat herself. She did as he asked, this time slower and clearer.

"Dr. Vast said iron- deficiency anemia." He moved his head to one side, watching her eyes brighten with understanding. "That doesn't sound that bad, does it?"

"No. It is the most common form of anemia. I should be taking iron supplements after being released from this place. Did Dr. Vast mention anything about removing my spleen?"

That surprised him. Mulder didn't know what part shocked him the most - the fact she knew more than he would ever know about the sickness or that she asked about removing her own spleen. "Christ... no. Just blood transfusions. You lost acute amounts of blood from your hemorrhage."

"Would the treatment be repeated?" When that was said, Mulder swore that she almost sounded medical herself. He shivered from the cool air conditioning that hit his spine.

"I believe... that if you won't experience any more severe blood loss that this would be the last transfusion."

Mulder gazed into her eyes and was even more jolted as he found a spark of guarded fright in them. She broke their gaze and looked down at the white sheet on her lap, while playing with the folds with her small hands. "Did he... cite the... any cause?"

That part he completely missed. Dr. Vast mentioned something about it, like losing iron during childhood, during pregnancy, or plain insufficient iron in the diet. The doctor could not possibly pinpoint which of those probable causes would apply to Scully's condition, but trying to be helpful, he suggested that it could either be pregnancy (especially an end-of-term miscarriage) or that Scully was not eating well.

Mulder seriously felt upset when the Doctor mentioned pregnancy. Scully's only twenty, for God's sakes. And her tight figure had never showed any stretch marks or any of those telltale marks of a previous pregnancy.

Byers' wonderful statements two nights ago rang in his head as that occurred to him. _How could he possibly know_? He didn't have a single idea about the woman's past.

He tossed his feelings aside and reasoned with Dr. Vast that pregnancy could not be considered as a cause. Now, Mulder tried opening that same topic up to Scully so that he could be completely honest about her condition … and maybe, just maybe, she would be honest about her situation, too.

"The Doctor mentioned something about loss of iron during childhood, pregnancy, or insufficient iron diet." Mulder tried to sound as lost about the subject as he could, so he could let Scully open herself up a little and he could "pry" into her.

Scully was expressionless as she listened to him. When he finished, she smiled sideways at him. "I haven't been eating much during the past months ... especially when I arrived in America. I ... I didn't really have much money."

He hid his relief as he shifted in his seat. He didn't want her to see how much this affected him.

"I have been staying with you for only a few weeks ... and maybe the daily practices left me exhausted. Will the Doctor let me dance when I am released?"

"Yes. Of course he would."

"Ah," she breathed out, and they shared the same reprieve. "I'd have to get a diet of beef or calf liver then."

She knew a lot about her own sickness, Mulder thought. A lot more than a usual person should. The three- letter word "pry" danced in his head with the dexterity of Spunk, interlacing with each other until Mulder pushed them out of his thoughts. Her past wasn't his business. It was only her present and future that he should be worried about.

"That won't be hard. I'm sure Jenny would love to concoct something new for your liking."

"But I'm still staying here in Vegas until the show's done."

"You'd have to settle with my cooking, then," Mulder quipped. It was fairly arranged in his own mind that he'll be staying in Las Vegas with Scully in the apartment he had gotten her. He would be a personal caretaker of sorts, a male- nanny. That was the downside - the upside would be getting away from the chaos in his own Manor and being able to take care of some filming issues (like the script, for instance) in the silence of an apartment. He could get everything done when she was not around.

"You're staying here? With me?" she asked, incredulous. Mulder didn't understand what was so unbelievable about it. They had been living with each other for weeks now.

"Yes. I have to," he pushed, knitting his eyebrows. Scully shook her head vehemently, crossing her arms under her breasts.

"You don't have to do that for me. I could take care of myself," she indignantly stated, emphasizing it with an eyebrow that could defy gravity. She was stubborn - all spice and no sugar at all. Even when she was so vulnerable, she was tingling with womanly salsa. Mulder wondered silently whether he would ever discover a side of Scully that didn't consist of her shouting, her cursing, her hard-headedness, and her spunk.

"Sure. You could... that's why you're here right now," he argued, swinging one leg over the other. Scully faltered, knowing it was an argument that she couldn't win now.

"Fine. But don't you dare cook." She settled her back on the wall, still keeping her arms tightly crossed and her pink lips pouted. Mulder bit the inside of his cheek, maintaining his serious expression as they studied each other's faces, trying to intimidate one another until someone gave up.

He sighed. He already won during the first bout. He should let her win this time.

"I won't dare, 'coz I _will_ cook. For your information, Ms. Scully, I am a _great_ cook."

That made her arms drop to her lap and she opened her mouth to say something, but closed it, instead opting for a tight-lipped smile.

* * *

It was a sunny Friday afternoon, a lot sunnier than Mulder expected when he woke up. A ring of sweat was forming around his neck and a thin film of moisture was already covering his half- naked torso. He realized that he forgot to turn the air conditioning to high cool last night - actually, come to think of all of it, he had forgotten his whole routine last night. It was a routine that had been going on for at least four days, since Scully was released from the hospital. Byers went back to Los Angeles after being assured that everything was to be handled by Mulder.

She still had a month to stay in Vegas for her practices until her final show, so he resolved the matter about their temporary house by renting an apartment that was a block away from Mr. Jayson's dance studio. It had two bedrooms and a large moving space for them when they get tired of each other, and enough space for them to not forget that they had a perpetual companion. The furniture in their apartment was borrowed from Mr. Jayson himself (the better and normal half of his stuff), and the tiny details were added by Scully later on. She had a mighty grand time designing the whole spot, filling up the corners with her lilies and carnations ensembles once again. She even placed a small vase with a lily on his computer stand, which he returned to her room the next day. He thought it looked too girly for him. Scully thought it brightened up his dreary working space.

The final draft of the script arrived two days ago, bringing Mulder into a swirl of work. People kept dropping in and out of the apartment: from his producer, Walter, to his scriptwriter, Kimberly Young. They discussed the first date of shooting (which was still under debate), the final casting of characters (settled yesterday), and the locations of each shoot (mostly in Warner Brothers' studio, but there were some scenes that needed special backgrounds).

The last two days left Mulder high and dry. Out of his much-needed sunflower seeds snack, he had nothing to keep him at bay while doing most of his work. He was rereading the whole script when he fell asleep on his bed, with the lights on, the air conditioning sputtering, and with his glasses askew on his nose.

When he woke up, he was tucked into the bed without his shirt, glasses, and script neatly resting on his desk. He did the math quickly. The only detail Scully forgot was the air conditioning. Then again, he had always set the air conditioning in her room. She probably had no idea that it was turned on.

After eating the breakfast Scully left him, he returned to the script once again. He argued a couple of times with John on the phone about a certain location that had to be shot in New York, called Emily to ask how her day went, watched some TV to release the tension building up in his neck, and ultimately, as the clock strike 4:30, he started cooking lunch (he was very, very thankful to his Mother who forced him to enroll in cooking classes back when he was a teen. She was a cooking- obsessed woman who wanted her kids to be the same), and his daily specialty - liver steak.

The days had been passing in lightning speed for both Mulder and Scully. It was crazy, chaotic, and stressful.

He had been giving Scully extra care when she was released from the hospital. He made sure that she had her ferrous sulfate pills every day, fixed her up a dish that would consist of liver, and he had always been at her side whenever she got a nose bleed. It almost had been a daily occurrence for her to get nose bleeds ever since she was diagnosed. He was crudely getting used to it.

The whole apartment was still littered with the scent of his favorite dish, pasta primavera, when Scully entered the place, sweat dripping from her forehead and her backpack slung over one shoulder. She sniffed at the air cautiously as he waved at her a good afternoon.

"Spaghetti, and ..." She grimaced as another scent caught her sensitive nostrils. "Liver steak. Again." Dropping the backpack on the couch, she dug in her pocket for her handkerchief and wiped away her sweat. Mulder was still tinkering in the kitchen, transferring the pasta on a serving dish. She crept up behind him, watching his movements in silence. He thought that she was probably wishing death to the liver steak that he was just scraping off the pan.

"You need it, Scully," he piped up, handing her the prepared spaghetti dish from the counter. She received it with both hands, holding the rim with a towel to buffer the plate's heat. She hopped over to the small dining table that was adjoined with the kitchen.

"I don't need it _every day_."

"We want to be consistent so that you'll be well soon enough." It was the liver steak's turn to get on the serving dish. Mulder made sure that he would be delivering it to the table himself, or else Scully would probably throw it out the window. "And it's _pasta __primavera_, not spaghetti."

"I don't think I can eat that, Mulder." His last statement was ignored. She was setting the table with their simple silver plates and utensils, making a place for him and her. Finishing that, she sat down on her spot, and he on his own, across each other.

Scully protested against the dish with her small squirms as Mulder poured her the steak on a separate dish. All was in order, and they started eating, with Scully ignoring the liver steak.

Mulder pointed at the steak with his fork. "You're not forgetting about that, Scully. You tried that ploy yesterday. It didn't work."

She shook her head persistently, taking a mouthful of pasta into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed fast, before answering him. "I'm not eating that, Mulder. I'm sick and tired of it."

"You _need_ to eat it."

"I don't."

"You had a nose bleed yesterday. You're eating that steak until your nose bleeds are gone."

"I am not eating this dish anymore EVER."

Mulder gazed up into the damn ceiling. Why, of all the people in the world to have this strange arrangement with, did he end up having it with Scully? She argued with him, fought with him, and usually left him tired.

He gathered strength from his momentary rest, and settled back to the conversation at hand.

The answer to his question was quite easy, actually. That's because Scully had the talent that he deemed perfect for his debut movie. And he should be thankful that he was lucky enough to have her. He almost lost her to Alex Kryceck - a bastard at that.

"I'll eat it with you if you want." He moved his head to one side, as if telling her with his tongue stuck out, "top that!" Scully considered this and then pushed the small serving towards him. He didn't – he dug his fork into one piece of meat and quickly tucked it into his mouth.

Ugh. He forgot how liver tasted. Tangy, metallic, and purely disgusting.

Seeing the expression on his face, Scully wore the look of triumph on hers. He frowned at her and concentrated on chewing the damn thing.

Swallowing it took some more effort.

"Not bad, huh, Mulder?" She twisted a fork on the fine strands of pasta. Mulder groped for his glass of water and drained the damn thing in one toss. He'd gladly drink a pitcher of cold water just to remove the aftertaste of liver in his mouth.

Scully propped up her head on her hand, brushing away the wild strands of hair from her face. "Well? How is it? Good? Great? Better?"

Mulder forced himself to recover from the liver when he heard her say that.

"Fuck you," was all he could get out, and she giggled. Her childish giggle - unlike a normal woman's giggle - was low- pitched, not at all girly or flirty. All spice, no sugar.

He didn't push her to finish his liver steak again during the whole meal. He would have to call Jenny up back home and ask for a good liver recipe that'll mask the funky taste.

Since Scully also received her script the same day that Mulder did, she spent some of her free time studying her lines. That was when it finally dawned on Mulder to consider her acting abilities - sure, she could dance the whole movie away, but could she act? It _was_ a movie, for Christ's sakes. And it didn't occur to any of them that Scully had to act ... everyone was enthralled when she danced. They got caught in the heat of the moment - or in the heat of finding someone as talented of a dancer as her.

Using most of his Spunk courage and keeping all the Spunk rules intact in his mind, he approached her on the living room couch while she was scanning the some latter scenes of the script. The TV set was playing a rerun of The Cosby show, white noise to add life to the apartment's somber mood. After their meal, Mulder busied himself with more phone calls with his staff. That used up most of his time: two hours during the whole process of reviewing the script, an hour to complain to John about his lack of his favorite brand of sunflower seeds, and another hour of writing in his planner.

Mulder was on the phone with Walter for the fucking nth time when the Producer mentioned that particular subject to him:

"You are very fond of her talent, like we all are -" Walter grumbled, obviously reaching the extent of his exhaustion. Mulder entrusted most of the business back in Los Angeles to his producer, since John Doggett was already on full load with his Monica coming to the end of her third trimester. His assistant, Marita, still wasn't in the shape for something as important as this, so Walter was his choice. He trusted the bald man with his life. "... And I'm wondering if you ... have any idea if she knows how to act."

That was the exact statement which bought him to the edge of the couch, waiting for Scully to acknowledge his presence in her vicinity.

She glared at him quizzically, and he shrugged. Sighing, and maybe even understanding the need for him to talk to her, Scully slumped the thick bind of script beside her, moving away from him to give him some space. That was all settled when Scully reached over and turned the TV off.

"Is there anything you need?"

Mulder rested his ankle on his knee, pushing his arms across the couch's thick back cushion. He made sure that his arm didn't reach Spunk's side, or else she'd swat it with one of her stinging slaps. "I want to know if you could ... handle the role. You've read the script more than once already, right?"

Scully reflexively reached for her golden cross, twisting it around her fingertips lightly. "Yes. I have. Are you worried that I cannot act?"

The way she read him didn't surprise him anymore, because he could do exactly the same to her: read her like a kindergarten book - all he had to do was look into her eyes and her emotions would be as plain as day to him.

"Umm... you are a wonderful dancer, Scully, but this is a movie. If you haven't experienced acting before, tell me now so I could get you acting classes."

Scully shook her head, letting her cross fall back on her clavicle. "No, no need for that. I can act. I... I wouldn't have had accepted this job if I couldn't."

"What's my guarantee that you could?" He was blunt about it, and he was sorry; however, it was _his_ movie. He had to be sure that she could act. It was for the best of the studio and for the best of everyone involved.

"I was forced to enroll in theater workshops when I was young." Scully turned her head away from him as she recalled those memories. Mulder moved closer, eager to hear what she had to say. "Dancing is my first love ... and I danced even if my siblings didn't like it. So to keep my energy down, they decided to enroll me in acting workshops. I was officially enrolled in acting, guitar, piano, and art workshops. I was enrolled in all of them, except dancing."

Mulder laughed, relieved at best. He believed her. There was nothing to doubt about her statement. There was nothing to doubt about Scully herself.

"Go figure." She rolled her eyes, returning her attention back to him. For that quick span of time, Mulder knew that Scully missed Wales. The telltale mistiness in her eyes was enough for him to sympathize with what she was feeling - it wasn't easy for her to be jumping into the world of Hollywood when she should actually be in college … which made Mulder think about a particular topic.

"Scully... did you ever consider studying in a university? You're really too young to be all alone."

She smoothed her hair consciously, answering immediately before he could ask another question. "Yes. I had two semesters in college. I was accelerated in primary school."

Interesting. The earth wasn't as flat in her realm after all. Spunk had actually wanted something different from dancing _and_ she was smart, too. "What were you taking up?"

To his surprise, a crimson blanket fanned over her pale cheeks. Mulder smiled at her reaction. He hadn't been seeing her blush for a long time now, and he wouldn't deny to himself that he loved seeing her all flushed up.

Scully pressed her palms flat on her cheeks, bowing her head. "I was actually taking a pre-med course."

Mulder didn't know whether to laugh or say something.

Medicine? Scully was into medicine? How could a woman who was deathly afraid of hospitals (and had thrown incredible fits when in one) take up medicine in college? Did the fear of hospitals come before or after she studied the subject? The mere thought of staying a whole week in a hospital almost killed Scully ... how could she survive all the slicing and dicing a pre-medicine course involved?

"Mulder," Scully interrupted, her blush fading to a vibrant pink. "You want to ask me something. Go ahead and ask it."

He didn't waste any time contemplating the words that came flying out of his mouth. "How could you study medicine, Scully? I saw your reaction in the hospital ... you couldn't have ..."

"I did. I was interested in pathology. The idea of ... saving people ... appealed to me."

"It did?"

"Yes," she answered. She opened her mouth, and then closed it at once. When she spoke up, Mulder knew that it wasn't what was initially in her train of thought. "Well, I didn't last for even a whole year. I guess my fear got the best of me."

He tapped his fingers on the upholstery, gradually trying to sink in what he was hearing. "E- yeah. But really, Scully... is that the reason you know so much about Anemia?"

Scully replied with a nod. Mulder clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. Curiosity was eating him away. Churning his insides and picking at the fine spots of his flesh. He was a lousy quitter. It was a good trait, but sometimes, it got the best of him. Byers be damned.

"You still continued reading books after you stopped studying?"

"Medical books to be exact. I ... still am in love with Medicine. It's my second darling." The way she said 'darling' ("dahling") made Mulder's heart skip a beat. He was beginning to appreciate the fine points of her British accent as he continued to live with her. Maybe someday, he would get to appreciate her Spunkiness.

"That's something," he gushed, and the pink of Scully's cheeks became a full blown red blush again. Seeing that, Mulder laughed.

* * *

Fox Mulder has known Dana Scully for three weeks by now. He had also endured the consequences of coming to know her as he lived with her 24/7 under the same roof in the most abnormal of circumstances. More than many times, he had been shouted at, thrown things at, argued with, given the snubbing, and had been embarrassed. But also, more than many times, he was fascinated by Scully. He was fascinated by the way she talked with strange eloquence, by the way she laughed, by the way she cried, by the way she gave him small bread crumb hints of her care for him.

Those short three weeks were only the start of their relationship with each other, but as those three weeks went on, Mulder learned something about the complicated woman - something very, very important about her.

Scully was a body with two personalities conquering her. You might say that she was a lone body in the middle of two towering souls to give it a clearer image, no matter how absurd the idea was. Mulder knew immediately, as the realization bolted upon him, that this was the real reason behind her tantrums, her moodiness, and her never ending show of vulnerability and independence at the same time. He didn't think she had mental issues, of course, but it was the only temporary explanation he could conjure to stop HIMSELF from insanity with the way she was treating him.

There were times when Scully would be extra sweet towards him, when she would be like a little girl looking for her lost lollipop, and Mulder had christened those moments as the _Scully-girl_. She would be very commiserating, soft even. She'd cry after her nightmares and Mulder would have to run towards her room to make sure she was okay. These were the times when she would tell him a bit of herself; when she would let a little bit of him in to her life.

However, there was also the Spunk in her that continued to threaten that Scully- girl out of her way. This Spunk was the woman he met for the first time, the one who cursed and shouted at him for no apparent reason. This was Scully in her after- bitch attire, she herself becoming his own worst nightmare. Spunk was the woman who had her whole wall built against him, making sure that he wouldn't peek into her fortress - and if ever he was able to peek in, he wouldn't be able to see anything in it.

He could read her that way, that well.

Mulder sometimes wondered if their relationship would be any different if Scully was in the middle ground of those two personalities: what if she stood in the middle of Scully- girl and Spunk? How would she treat him? How would she react to his care? How would he react to her when that happened - if that _did_ happen?

One night, Mulder seriously thought he had gained the answers to those questions. But the woman was far too complicated to be answered by the gestures they shared during that rare evening.

He had fallen asleep earlier than Scully that evening, probably due to all the guests Walter had brought with him to their apartment. While Mulder entertained everyone to death with the prospects of the movie, Scully served them orange juice, afterwards locking herself in her room. She wasn't very hospitable.

Countless dreams of dancers clothed in white and angels tangoing with them were invading Mulder's tired mind when he felt a warm body close in on his frame. By reflex, even in his sleep, he reached for that warmth and found an arm. He closed his hand in on the wrist and dragged it to the muscles of his bare tummy. The body didn't protest ... actually, that someone even cuddled closer to him. Contented, he sighed and began to sleep again.

He didn't know how long he lost consciousness, but when he came around, imagine his own surprise when he found Scully's head sprawled all over his chest; an arm slung over his torso, snuggling up closer to him. His first reaction was to jerk back, but seeing that Scully was so peaceful in her own position, he opted for a slight jarring of her shoulder.

Scully woke up, her eyelids still half- closed. She lifted her head from his chest and stared at him with her groggy blue eyes. Mulder swallowed hard. Did she have to be so beautiful even when she was in this state? Fuck. What was he thinking? He was going way crazy, living with this woman every damn mother fucking day.

He focused on the situation at hand, thanking the night's darkness for aiding him in hiding his revealing facial expressions.

"Scully... what are you doing here?" he stuttered as he said that, inch- by-inch removing himself from her hold.

Her hand tightened around his waist, pinning him in his position. His nerve endings didn't help him much - they were enjoying her touch as much as the rest of his body was.

"Stay with me, please," she pleaded, with those watery Scully-girl blue eyes that Mulder had never, ever tried to resist. With this complication before him though, he was going to dare big time.

"I can't do that."

"Why not?" Panic rose over the edges of her sleep- draped voice.

"'Coz this is my room and you're the one who's supposed to leave?" he joked, and he didn't stop himself from feeling the soft strands of her hair with his hands. It had to be a dream. This was all a dream, a product of his fertile imagination from being in the presence of a beautiful woman every day, one of the adverse side effects. Something in his fucking hormones had to go haywire when that opportunity was given to you.

Shit. He's not going to say "fuck" when they are positioned like this in one bed. If he wanted to keep their relationship platonic, he should lose the "F" word when he's drunk, when his hair wasn't washed, and when he's in bed with Scully ... wait, wasn't that almost equivalent to the "F" word? Shit. Deep, smelly shit.

Mulder tried to retreat once again. "Scully please, I'll ... carry you back to your room if you want ... don't ..."

"I don't want to go back there. I... I had nightmares... again."

Mulder laid his head back down on his pillow, getting the explanation. He removed impertinent worries from his brain. Of course, Scully was always in check. She wouldn't be barging into his bed for no reason. She had a nightmare, and she needed his company. When she got nightmares, he usually was the one who stayed beside her in her bedroom. He would stay, holding her hand, until she fell asleep. This time, he slept earlier than she did and she woke up from her nightmare without him to comfort her.

Guilt washed over Mulder. He should've been there for her.

"I'm sorry... did you cry?"

"Yes. And I had a nose bleed after." Her disease - it definitely heightened the nightmares. What choice did she have than to seek for that comfort herself?

He surrendered when she told him that, pushing his body towards her smaller one, enveloping her in a hug. She buried her face on the slick skin of his, and not long after, wetness invaded his flesh. She was crying again. The nightmare must've been an enormous one this time.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he offered, like he always did. But like she always did, she shook her head. She never had, not even once, considered talking to him about her dreams. And that was fine with him. Whatever she's comfortable with, it was fine with him.

He dipped his mouth to her ear, while his hand traveled up and down her trembling back. "I'm here for you, you know that don't you?" She nodded meekly, and if it was possible, she buried herself deeper into his embrace, almost to the point that he felt they were becoming one molecule, invading the laws of physics and matter and all that science crap she so loved.

After her sobbing subsided, he flipped her to one side, so that she had her back against him and he could cover her arms with his own. This position would make her feel protected; it would make her feel shielded from her demons.

Mulder kissed the top of her head and tucked it under his chin. His arm went aroundto hold her to him, anchoring his fingertips on her flat stomach. Her hand moved underneath his arm, and Mulder paused her movement by taking her cold hand with his own, interlacing her fingers with his.

Scully's breath slowed down, molding her body to his perfectly with one wiggle. Mulder relaxed in the darkness, still not quite believing that he's in bed with Scully, that he's allowed to hold her this way. This was how he believed it was for Scully-girl and Spunk to come together - a vulnerable yet strong woman. A perfect woman.

He wanted to entertain some ideas that were inching towards his brain. He really wanted to think about the nature of her nightmares - why she was such a troubled young woman, why she needed him so during those times - but the only thing dancing up in his brain like a graceful Spunk was the fact that they fit so well together like this, like two juggernauts of tectonic plates finally finding each other in the vast sea of the Atlantic. Home, mates. This was home. How her short legs weaved over his long ones, how her back molded to his front without ado. Home.

Mulder kissed her hair softly, and drifted off into a euphoric, dreamless sleep.

* * *

The sunlight was already doing salsa on his naked torso when Mulder's senses shook him awake. He bolted out of the bed right on his ass, paddling through the soft sheets around him. There was another scent invading his head, a pleasant scent that consisted of baby powder ... cucumber ... strawberries ...

He remembered the incident last night, and instinctively searched for Scully beside him. She was nowhere to be found.

Mulder jumped off his bed, scratching at an itchy patch on his stomach. It was a Saturday, Scully's day- off from rehearsals. She should be outside, cooking breakfast or watching TV. Was it his turn to cook breakfast today? Usually, it's Scully who bothered with the morning goodies, since his duties were lunch and dinner. It wasn't fair, was it? But anyway, she's the one who had to physically work her butt off in this. All he had to accomplish the rest of the day was to tinker with the script, argue on the phone, and entertain the guests ...

Without a second thought, he exited the bedroom, crisscrossing through the living room, still scratching at that patch on his stomach. Damn it. Maybe Scully pulled a trick on him last night and spread itching powder on him.

"Scully?!" He checked on the dining room table, not even giving a second glance at the living room. He was hungry. His stomach was making known its protest. There was no breakfast. Mulder grumbled, "Where's breakfast? Didn't you do something? Is it my turn today?"

No answer.

Mulder mumbled a string of curse words under his breath. Where the hell was she? He was too lazy to look around for her today. His eyelids were still at half- mast, and he's somewhat afraid that if he gained full consciousness, he'd break the silly spell on him - the one she cast over him last night: the dreamy, hazy, heady spell that consisted of baby powder, strawberries, and cucumber.

"You didn't even make me coffee. Is this the thanks I get for last night? I could've thrown you out of the bed, you know, but NO- ooo... Ms. Scully had to use her charms on Mr. Sleepyhead to get her way with him. That wasn't very polite, you understand?" He was in the mood for bantering with her today. He just hoped she'd make a sound that she was annoyed. If she didn't, he'd have to bother himself with finding her in their small apartment.

"Mulder."

Ah! She was there! Finally, someone he could annoy for the whole day. He decided that he was in the mood for everything today.

Flipping himself so that his ass was pressed on the kitchen counter, he turned towards the sound of her voice ...

Only to bring himself to face another surprise.

Or shock.

His breath completely left him at that moment, as if he was hit straight in the gut.

Whatever. What the FUCK ever.

John and Monica Doggett were seating across Scully in the living room, smiling lethargically at his disheveled form. Scully, still in her silky pajamas, had her face in her hands. Her ears were turning to a bright pink, matching the color on Monica's cheeks, and probably the color of the sudden rush of blood to his face.

Shit. Double sided, fly- infested, son-of-a-bitch shit.

"Hey... John... 'Nica..." That was the only thing he could produce form his faltering vocal chords. Of all the places he didn't want to look at today, he chose not to look at the living room. Why were the gods so cruel to him? Why today, of all days?

Through her hands, Scully spoke up, "I woke up early. John and Monica were knocking and I didn't... h- have time to wake you up."

It didn't matter, really. John had seen him in his 'still in La la land state' more times than he could ever care about, and Monica wouldn't give a crap - what he was really worried about was what he said in his 'still in La la land state'. He replayed what his big mouth spurted, and it only made his crimson face blood red. Fantastic. As if it could've been any, any better.

"Good morning, _mi amigo_." Monica's attempt at sounding perky obviously wasn't working. John wasn't helping. He was only staring at Mulder with pure astonishment.

"Good morning, _mon ami-e_." Mulder hoped his French would salvage some things that were already damaged, but with the weak smiles he received from the other end, little could be done. John and Monica already had the same conclusions in their minds: that he and Scully were lovers.

Wonderful. That made him... what? A fucking monster? Branding his stars before they even hit the camera?

"Umm..." Mulder picked at his thoughts carefully, afraid that the harshest of them might spill out of his mouth. Glimpsing at Scully, he saw that she still had her head in her hands, doing the "ostrich's" way out of it. He couldn't blame her. She wasn't the one who started yapping about 'last night' like it was the day's horoscope. "What... are you- you two doing here?" He rubbed his blurry eyesight ferociously to get a better view. "Monica? Aren't you supposed to be at home, resting?"

John answered that question for his wife, locking Mulder's gaze with his 'I'm-going-to-beat-you-down-like-He Man-later-and-don't-you-try-to-run' gaze. "We came here to personally deliver you your sunflower seeds." To express her husband's point, Monica reached over her side and lifted the juicy XXXL pack of sunflower seeds.

He was salivating at the sight, but in response, Mulder only raised his head higher.

"And Monica wanted to see Dana. She also bought her new clothes."

The "new clothes" were a heap of paper bags labeled Guess and Banana Republic on Scully's feet, scattered aimlessly. By that time, Scully's head had popped out from its hiding place, but the redness on her cheeks was as stubborn as she was.

"Oh. Thanks, John." What else could he say_? We didn't fuck last night, John. Trust me. She slept in my bed - we slept together, actually, but nothing happened. _

As if they'd believe a single word that out his mouth.

Having run out of options, he awkwardly joined the group in the living room, making sure that he didn't meet Scully's eyes. He wouldn't want to read them this time.

* * *

John half- carried/half- dragged Mulder from the living room, and to the outside of the apartment. The swift afternoon air varied from warm to humid hot, and still needing a good morning shower, Mulder didn't exactly appreciate his friend's gesture of leaving the cool air conditioned room behind. He kept grumbling under his breath as the incessant Doggett seized his bicep, almost toppling his trashy form on the railings. Mulder held onto the rails, regaining his footing.

"What the hell are you thinking Mulder? That girl's only twenty!" John bellowed, attacking Mulder with full force. Shaking his head, John pressed his two fingers against his temples.

Mulder muttered another string of curses before answering, "We're not _involved_, John. I appreciate your concern for me and Scully, but you're assuming -"

"Then what about that crap you were talking about, huh?!" John's voice became ragged and labored. "You expect me to think otherwise? You slept with her in the same bed! What do you want me to think? That she got scared and you let her climb in? Fuck that Mulder!"

Yeah, fuck that - but that was the truth.

"Actually, John..."

"No, Mulder- I'm not letting you off the hook this time! This ... woman, Dana, she's special, I know ... and the _studio_ needs her! You were given the responsibility of taking care of her and I'm not going to watch you fuck that up!"

And Byers told him that he had the habit of not letting people finish their sentences. That title should now be awarded to Mr. John Doggett, _maudit_ friend of his. Mulder could not even believe the patience he was stretching for this conversation. He should be barfing what his mind was picketing right into John's face right now. But Mulder stood by, actually enjoying the enraged expression on his friend's face. He had a hidden sadistic side to him, apparently.

"Dana's young - and you, you're on the rebound from Diana! Do you think you could give her everything, everything, EVERYTHING you didn't give Diana? Are you going to marry this girl?! I'll only let you fool this if she has an engagement ring on her finger! Which, of course, she is devoid of! What were you thinking? Are you turning into a complete idiot, Mulder?"

"No," he defied, bringing John into another round of fit. Before his friend could start sputtering hardly- recognizable English words at him (or worst, Spanish), he took John by the shoulders and shook him hard enough to rattle the man's brain for a second.

"I am NOT having a sexual relationship with Scully. Scully is my star, my responsibility, and my friend ... but not my lover. It happens that she has these... these nightmares that bother her every night, and it so happened that you guys arrived during the first and probably ONLY night we'll ever sleep together in bed. She just wanted comfort from me, nothing more than that. Sure, we slept together, but we didn't have sex." Mulder released John, hoping against hope that his explanation was clear enough. He wasn't up for going through it all again, seeing that it was not necessary to do so.

John brushed his fingers through his brown hair, skimming through them as if skimming through all the speculations underneath that blanket of brown roots.

"Tell me that's true, please."

Mulder scratched on that spot on his stomach once again, breaking away from John's one- sided view. "You've never lied to me, John. I've never lied to you. It's true."

"Y- You... You're not fooling around with her? Nothing has happened between you?"

The director turned his back to his friend, resting his elbows on the thin metal railings, finally allowing the ragged humid breeze to fill his lungs completely. He hesitated before answering, shuffling his fingers together; feeling in between the ridges sticky, smoldering sweat.

"No. Nothing has happened. No."

John came to stand beside him, and his best friend patted him on the back. Mulder shrugged, finding nothing more to say - or argue about.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER EIGHT**

* * *

**NOTES: **I have been watching Gillian Anderson interview clips when she speaks with her British accent ... and let me tell you that it kicks the Spunk imagery in me alive!


	12. Chapter Nine

**CHAPTER NINE:**

* * *

April 17, 1985

Dear Melissa,

I probably do not deserve the life I am living here in America. I eat more than three times a day, I have a flat here in Las Vegas (though housing here is cheaper than in Los Angeles), I have a contract for a movie with a big studio and a contract with the _Folies Bergere_ (a dream come true, Missy!), and I have a man who cares for me as if we are married, despite this arrangement being obviously forced.

Lately, I have been busy with the rehearsals for my opening act for the Folies Bergere. These rehearsals have taken up my day. It has been strenuous for me, especially since I have been battling physical exhaustion lately, and the girls in the dancing group are not exactly friendly with me. But nothing beats dancing for your dream and knowing that is already reality. I feel so fulfilled.

As for Mulder … he has been so nice to me these days that I sometimes wonder if he has some hidden agenda behind his mischievous hazel eyes. However, Missy, he's really a good man. Even if he tires me out most of the time, he really is a kind and caring person. I don't mind him tiring me out anyway – since I can outdo his wit and energy in a split second!

What surprised me about him, most of all, was the fact that he is a great cook. He makes this delicious Pasta Primavera … and my mouth is watering right now just thinking about it. Then there's that daily specialty that I have to eat … I won't tell you what it is, since I'm not sure if your gag reflex is okay now in your final trimester, but according to him, this "daily specialty" will give me enough strength for my rehearsals. As if.

Yet, Missy, I should mention this … I know I have found a friend in Fox Mulder.

My apologies if this letter is quite inconsistent. I'm on my way to the Folies Bergere studio (can you believe I'm saying this?) and this is just a quick note for you. The eggs for our breakfast is burning in the frying pan and I need to flip them over (I cook breakfast for me and Mulder every day and he hates it … he says he is the better cook; I agree, but I will never tell him _that_).

I do miss Wales, Missy. I miss the golden lilies that grow in our backyard. I miss you and your round tummy. I miss Charles' lopsided grin. I miss Bill's stern façade – that face he gives me whenever I do something silly. I miss Milford Haven.

But I know that I belong here right now, in this moment.

I wish I had news about you, Missy. I wish you would somehow write back.

Give my love to Charles and Bill. And give my love to your future child … you're about to give birth next month, Missy. As the Americans say, "hang in there!"

_Anrhega 'm cara at Mama's bedd._

Love,  
**Dana**

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER NINE**

* * *

**A/N: **One of the parts of the whole fic that I've always been bothered about is Scully's letters to Melissa. As you guys have read, the fic is largely told from Mulder's perspective and that has always been my main intention – for us to see Spunk through Mulder's eyes – because it will lead to the climax in Book II (I'm so excited for this!) and the epilogue, where we hear from Scully once again (just as we did in the Prologue). These letters are crucial for us to at least understand where Scully is coming from in the fic's events. These letters though were haphazardly written. I do not understand why I did not like writing them back then, so now I'm rewriting them. They are probably the most rewritten parts of the fiction for this repost.

I hope you guys are liking this so far! I'm reposting as fast as I could so that we could go and explore the unfinished parts of Spunk Book II soon (I'll post them in this same thread, so no worries!).


	13. Chapter Ten: Stardust Building

**CHAPTER TEN:**

* * *

Room 88  
Stardust Building  
Las Vegas  
April 30, 1985  
Tuesday

The past weeks after Monica and John's visit had been a big blur for Mulder: a dancing Scully; an acting Scully rehearsing in front of him, an angry Scully because he didn't fold her bed sheets with the triangle top; a series of frantic phone calls from Los Angeles; airplane rides from Los Angeles to Las Vegas and back; Scully's phone calls from Las Vegas; visits from his crew in Las Vegas; and then, himself.

He handled these on the tips of his toes, more gracefully than a dancing Spunk herself. Within that one month, he was able to set the date for the when they start shooting (July 18) and he had also written Emily's wedding date with bold letters in his planner (May 22).

The Scully-sharing-his-bed on that fateful night was handled as discreetly as they could. They didn't really talk about it that much, except when they want to banter with each other to death. But to resolve Scully's ongoing nightmares, Mulder made sure that he slept later than Scully did, so that if she started dreaming, it would be him who would run to her room to give her comfort and not the other way around. They never tried sleeping in one bed again. Mulder didn't know what Scully thought of it, but for him, it was better that they remain as far from intimacy as possible. Scully was his friend and his responsibility. He didn't want that ruined.

Then again, something just had to go awry when everything was on the fast lane.

Scully brushed past him in the kitchen, grabbing the scissor that was hung together with the other utensils beside him. She caught Mulder's eye as her white arm retreated away from him. After making sure that the eggs were still in good condition, he faced Scully. She was sitting on a chair across him, picking through her frizzy hair, dangling the scissors from her thumb dangerously close to her face.

Mulder clasped her wrist tight and grabbed the scissors from her finger. This made Scully fume out, flailing her free arm wildly for the scissors. With his physical advantage, he easily kept it out of her grasp.

"Now, now... what do we have here... an enraged little Ms. Scully?" he teased, pursing his lips. Scully tugged at a string of hair towards her chin.

"Mulder, give me those scissors."

"What are you going to do with them?"

Ah, the 'you-are-in-deep-shit' face. He loved it when she gave him that look. It meant the most adorable arguing session human beings had ever attempted.

She feigned an American accent as she talked, "I'm gonna use them to stab you, Mulder."

Nope, not even close. When Scully spoke, it was all British - from the words up until the punctuation marks.

"Ah, your violent side finally resurfaced." He wiggled his eyebrows, settling the scissors back to where they belong. Scully rolled her eyes.

"I don't have a violent side. I want to cut some hair from my eyes." To illustrate her point, she tugged at that particular strand of hair once again, and she folded it to show him where she wanted it to really settle. Mulder grimaced. Scully with bangs? First, she wanted to get a whole new wardrobe that was in fashion. Now she wanted to be _Pollyanna._ Next big thing might be her wanting to go around wearing two pigtails like the _Long Stockings_ kid. Whatever. The people of today's generation were getting crazier and crazier.

"You'll look horrible, Scully." He smelled the distinct aroma of well done eggs and he quickly turned around to flip the eggs before they burned. He kept a smirk to himself when he was reminded of how Scully always, always burned her eggs. At least in the cooking arena, he could prove her that he was way better. "Is this what they all are wearing their hair in now? Bangs? Christ. First it was teased up like an animal died and was buried in their hair, now it's bangs?"

Scully huffed out at him. "They said I'll look cute in bangs. I used to have bangs about two years ago - wasn't really a particularly fitting look for me, but blimey, I think I evolved a bit and I can accommodate such a change." That was her defiant answer.

Mulder grimaced. Scully, cute? Scully was already pretty and they wanted her to go back to cute? Who the fuck was messing with his Scully?

Thankfully, only half of the towering thoughts he had made came out of his mouth. "Cute?! Who told you that?" He couldn't really outwardly tell her that she was already pretty as she was now, because she would turn into a ripe tomato and burst before he could even take back what he said.

"The girls... in the studio."

"The Folies Bergere crew?" Mulder laughed, handing her the plate of eggs. She actually believed those girls? They didn't know Scully at all.

When she accepted the plate and settled it on the table, a small part of him shouted, _"So do you!"_ He shrugged it aside by brushing his cheek against his shoulder. Listening to your subconscious came cheap these days.

"Yes, the Folies Bergere crew. What's wrong with that?" she said that as if she was a teacher demanding for her grade one pupil to hand over the M&amp;Ms he stole from his classmate. Mulder tilted his head to one side while grabbing the bread from the kitchen counter. He was not going to let her be the teacher this time. Role reversal 101: It was his turn.

"Scully, you look fine as you are right now. You don't need to change the way you look."

She would never believe him. She would never ever believe him when it came to the way she looked.

"They all wear bangs... I guess. I mean, will it look that bad?"

Bad? Ha. That was an understatement.

"It won't fit you." It was her turn to grimace at his choice of words. Fine - so what he said was wrong. He could always try again.

Mulder opened the bag of bread and offered her a slice. She accepted it and began to poke her egg with her fork, waiting attentively for his reworded answer.

"You'll look good in anything, Scully, believe me... but not bangs. Please." It was more of a plea than an answer. Scully sighed, pushing her eggs onto the bread. He watched her do that for some time, until she pushed her head up and caught him watching her.

"What?" she said through a mouth full of bread and eggs.

"They don't like you much, do they?"

Scully's eyes widened when he said that. It was the same reaction he produced when the situation was vice- versa: when Mulder's the grade one book of colors and big bold letters and she was the teacher reading it to the class. This time, he was the teacher. She was the book. He could read it in her eyes like a burning hunger pang: the want to be accepted.

Chewing on her food slowly, Scully dejectedly answered, "No. They don't. They think I'm a _bimbette_ who doesn't deserve all the attention she's getting. I'm a butt ugly European who... lives with a Clydesdale chocoholic whom I should be doing the nasty with. A dipstick."

He blinked; he was lost. Eighties slang. Bah. Flower power was HIS decade.

"In English, please," Mulder stuttered, somehow allowing his memory to identify the words as much as he could. He had heard some of those phrases from Emily - like bimbette, or chocoholic - wait, that one was from Spunk herself.

Scully forced a smile on her lips. "They think I'm a bitch."

"I gathered that your previous statement was longer than that."

"You said in English," she pointed out, raising her fork at him.

"I didn't say that you rephrase it."

"Basically, that's what I said. I'm just summing it up." She took another bite of her egg sandwich. Mulder's stomach churned at the sight of Scully indulging herself. That reminded him that she was already halfway into her breakfast and he was not even fixing himself one.

Groping for the ketchup in the middle of the table, Mulder started putting his meal together. "Why didn't you tell me about this?" he asked, pushing his egg on top of the American bread.

Scully bowed her head down to her plate, avoiding his eyes. "I didn't think... that it was that important, you know. A group of girls hating me for no apparent reason - it's quite juvenile to worry about it, isn't it?"

Juvenile? Sometimes Mulder had to wonder whether this woman had her head screwed on tight. If he only did practice psychology after college, rather than becoming a producer, he would've made Scully his patient at once. "No, it's not juvenile. It's normal to worry about things like that."

She didn't say anything after his statement. She just placed all of her heavy concentration on her eggs and piece of bread. Mulder didn't push for more answers, though; he settled with spreading the ketchup all over the sunny egg.

Then it hit him.

Scully would be performing at the Tropicana in little less than a week. Why not?

"What if I come with you today? Watch your first dress rehearsal?"

He could tell by the sudden flush in her face that she was trying hard not to choke. He set that aside, still charging full force ahead.

"At least let me see what you're working on for the whole month. I woke up early today - this must've been the reason why," he chirpily concluded, motioning with his free hand to himself. Scully lunged for her OJ and drank it all in one gulp.

She looked at him through her glass and he looked back at her, unwavering. He was serious about this.

"You don't want to see me dance there. You'll get..." She poured herself another glass of juice as she frantically began to argue. "... Bored, you know... I mean, you have first row tickets to the show on May 6, I don't think your surprise should be ruined or something."

That was her argument? She seriously believed she would get away THAT easily? Mulder slyly smirked. It was his turn to torture her now.

"I'm coming, Scully."

Another gulp of orange Juice. She was going to finish that pitcher he made in one second.

"I am. Is that so wrong?"

A streak of juice dribbled on Scully's chin. It took all of Mulder's will to stop himself from wiping it. He thanked the heavens above when she felt it and did the task herself with the table napkin.

"Why are you doing THIS to me?" she wailed, dabbing on that spot on her chin. Mulder bit into his sandwich to push down the laughter tickling his throat.

Scully glared at him icily when she figured out what his reactions were. "Don't you dare. I hear one snicker from you and you will DIE."

He must've stopped laughing along the way since he first met her, because he was still alive.

Mulder mimicked her earlier way out of the conversation by pouring himself some OJ. He couldn't help the smirk that washed over his face, and it emitted another heavy groan from his Spunk.

* * *

Mr. Jayson was more than happy to receive him on the show's first technical dress rehearsal; he even letting him sit on the makeshift director's chair that the happy-go-lucky choreographer apparently _bought_ in one of his many, many trips to Hollywood.

Mulder grinned politely to keep the man ecstatic as they waited for Scully to appear in her post- bohemian/eccentric/belly-dancing attire, which according to Mr. Jayson was the women's role which Scully would be representing. That's what the show was about: the different roles of women throughout the world.

"Why did you make her a belly dancer?" Mulder asked, involuntarily studying the scattered dancers that were peering at him through the red curtains which hung over the studio's makeshift stage. They were continually glancing at him from the curtains, studying him and then giggling.

Mr. Jayson was sitting on a sofa that was out of place in the large dancing studio. He lifted his Gucci boots and settled his feet atop the table in front of them. "Dana has beautiful hips. When she sways them, it takes you in with it ... I noticed that quality about her when she dances." The choreographer tilted his head towards Mulder's direction. The Director almost jumped when a mousse-covered strand of hair fell on his arm.

"Would you rather have her in another performance, Mr. Mulder?"

Of course not. Mulder would love to see Scully shake that booty of hers. It would be, in Eighties slang, the bomb.

"Uh, no. Scully can do most anything." And he believed that statement with all of his heart. In their little apartment (or flat, as she called it), she would practice in her own room when she thought he was not looking. She left the door open to let some air in, since the Las Vegas weather had been extremely warm lately. Anyway, Scully danced when she was bored … but scrap that: Scully danced whenever she wanted to or could. She probably missed the privacy of the basement in Mulder Manor, so she indulged herself the only way she could in Vegas.

He was a big pervert spying on her like that, but he was always interested to see what his star could offer.

And yeah, she sure could offer a LOT. A lot more than those hips, Mr. Jayson.

Mr. Jayson smiled a gnarly lopsided grin at him, then clapped his hands twice, the sound echoing throughout the whole stage. The peek-a-boo girls stopped whispering and giggling among themselves and they automatically settled behind the curtains. Mulder relaxed, sighing deeply and settling his back onto his chair.

Music that consisted of cymbals, bongo drums, and guitar chords infiltrated his eardrums, shattering his relaxed mood. It sounded like new wave - with a more ancient, raw, and edgier feel to it. Was this what Scully was going to be dancing to? Could he protest this later on? Maybe he should've thought of watching Scully perform a long time ago.

From the darkness of the stage, a lone spotlight of navy blue appeared, highlighting a foot that appeared from the back curtains. An anklet of beaded gold and silver wrapped around the porcelain skin beautifully, making Mulder forget all of his new wave rants.

Then, she appeared.

Scully's face was partially hidden by a whispery thin beige cloth, as was her whole body from the audience. He could make out traces of shiny beads from the hemline of her long skirt, fluttering through the floor of the stage as she walked with careful grace. Mulder closed his eyes briefly and shook his head, telling his brain cells to stop short- circuiting. Yeah, fine, the woman - this Scully - before him was more than beautiful: she was actually ethereal, but she was STILL Scully. He should keep that in mind.

All thoughts disappeared as the music slowed to an impossibly lazy beat, and Scully's movements matched that. She dipped her whole upper body low to touch her feet, shaking her belly as she did. It was hypnotizing. Mulder secretly wished that the music would stay as sluggish as it was, so that he could watch Scully take immobile movements forever.

But, all good parts had to end, and the music picked up speed. He wasn't disappointed for long, though, since her movements were even more graceful, taking all of her body with it. She started shaking her hips more vigorously, lifting her head up to the ceiling, and turning her back to the audience.

She lost that damn beige cover. And Mulder almost flipped.

Tossing the material aside, her body began to gyrate more precisely to the fast beat, shaking the golden tassels that hung from the midriff she was wearing. Her perfect flat stomach was advocated in the shimmering blue bohemian attire, and so were her two perfectly toned legs that were occasionally peeking from the high slits across her skirt.

Mulder felt faint at the sight of this, and to think that this was ONLY the dress rehearsal.

As the beat thickened, so did her movements and dancing. She shook her belly to the sound in perfect synch, taking all of his consciousness together with the revolving beat. The beat got faster and faster, and she continued dancing to it without any mistakes. Mulder knew that Scully's passion was dancing ... he just didn't know that she danced with her soul, too.

The performance ended too soon, and when the lights came out, Mulder was too dumbfounded to stand up and stage was now bare before him. Mr. Jayson, who had stood up, awakened him to reality. Mulder followed suit and eagerly clapped his hands, while craning his neck to see where his Scully could've gone.

* * *

The dressing rooms were just behind the whole stage, so Mr. Jayson led Mulder to where Scully's was. He noticed that she had her own individual place, with the sign "DANA" taped messily on the front door. Mulder whisked away lint from his wool t- shirt, getting ready to knock on the door.

"You Mr. Fox Mulder?" a woman's voice, thick with a Southern accent, asked behind him. He swirled reflexively towards the sound, finding himself face-to-face with a skinny blonde woman that was almost as tall as he was. She was thickly made up and her lipstick was smeared at one side of her mouth. He also noticed the sharp cut of bangs across the dancer's forehead.

In reply, Mulder could only nod.

The lady tossed her long blonde hair from one side to another. "You're Dana's galpal?"

He surely hoped against hope that the word _galpal_ did not have a double meaning, but he had to be careful with this. "I'm the director for her upcoming movie."

The blonde smirked, blinking at him through her heavily-lined hazel eyes. "Friend. Sure. You live with that lady, right? You're the man responsible for all this that she got?"

Mulder could only nod again. He couldn't see where this conversation was going.

"Let me tell you one thing, preppy: Ms. Royal Highness doesn't deserve all that you're giving her." She shifted her weight on her five-inched heels, resting her body on the protruding pillar beside her. Mulder flinched at that.

"Excuse me, but who are you to tell me that Ms. Scully does not deserve what she's getting?" he demanded lightly, pursing his anger deep down in his stomach. For the meantime.

"She hasn't worked her way to the top, yet, you see. We here," she squinted her eyes and spread her arms wide around her. Mulder could see the laugh lines that were covered by the make up. He deduced that she must be at least thirty or thirty-five years old, "worked our asses off for the better part of our damn lives. She's a hoser that hasn't even been at the middle step and now she's at the top. She doesn't deserve it, I tell yah."

Bile invaded Mulder's guts when she said that. Who was she to tell him that Scully did not deserve what he was giving her? "Look, Ma'am, I don't want this to turn ugly, but if you are just here to bother me about your insecurities concerning Ms. Scully, then I suggest that you go to a psychiatrist, not to me." He turned around, breathing in and out steadily to keep himself from using his upper extremities against the lady.

"Fine. But don't come running back here and telling me that I didn't warn yah."

Warn him? _WARN_ him? Who the fuck did the lady...

"Mulder?" Scully's voice shattered through his anger, making him soften at the sight of her. She was standing in front of the door's crack, still in her bohemian clothes. "What's going on?" She pushed the door open, only to see the blonde lady shading her eyes from the white fluorescent light of the dressing room. Scully's eyes became steel blue daggers as she realized what was going on.

"What are you doing here Maitreya?" she said defensively, taking hold of Mulder's arm. "Maitreya" clenched her teeth together, gave Scully a 'you're-not-getting-off-easily'

expression, and disappeared into the dark halls of the backstage.

With her gone, Scully pulled Mulder into the dressing room. Inside, Scully took him by the collar and shoved him against the walls.

"WHAT did she tell you?"

Mulder pushed Scully's small fingertips from his neck. Christ, the woman had some strong muscles for someone who was only five feet and three inches.

"Nothing important -"

She shoved her ankles against his foot. Mulder scowled at the pain. Did she study martial arts back in Wales? She seemed like to have done JUST that.

He was not going to fight her, even if he could easily pick her up with his hands on her waist. He would act when she got too violent.

"WHAT DID SHE TELL YOU!?"

Okay. She's shouting. That was a warning sign for "violent Scully." Or Spunk.

"She told me that you don't deserve this. C'mon, give this up, Scully." She was going to get bloody any time soon, and he had no patience for that, so he encircled her waist with his hands and carried her close to his body. Scully protested loudly, thumping his chest. When that started to hurt, Mulder pushed her on his shoulder, and the thumping transferred to his lower back. That he didn't mind. He had strong back muscles.

Thanking Mr. Jayson for the long couch he upholstered in Scully's dressing room, he gently dumped her there. However, Scully took him with her as she clutched his neck and pulled him down to her.

Landing on the wet warmth of her neck, Mulder reveled in the sensation of her body against his before picking himself up with his elbows. Now they were effectively eye- to- eye.

He stared at Scully's baby blues as they filled up with antagonism and dread. A single tear threatened to fall from her eyelids, and he didn't stop himself from brushing it away with his thumb. From Spunk to Scully- girl. Her transformations were that quick.

"That Maitreya girl... she has been giving you a hard time, huh?" he whispered, feeling his hot breath bounce back from her skin. She nodded meekly as another tear appeared from her other eye. Mulder dipped his head low and kissed that tear away, tasting the saltiness against his lips. He did not lift his head up, staying beside her cheek, his face into the cushion. Scully's hands dropped on his lower back and he felt her fingers slowly kneading the muscles there as an apology for the previous pounding she had done.

And then her chest began to convulse. She started to cry. All the frustrations of being unaccepted in her own dancing dream, all the frustrations of being hated for being blessed, all the hurt of being ridiculed when you're doing your honest best in what you love.

Mulder traced his lips on her bare shoulder, letting her cry as long as she wanted to.

He thought about their evident difference in weight, and that he might be crushing her, so he flipped to one side so that she would be on top of him. But she protested with a hand to his back, keeping him as he was. She wanted comfort - she wanted _him_ as her blanket of comfort. Mulder wouldn't dispute that. He just hoped that she could still breathe.

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" he inquired for the second time that day, stretching one arm up to play with the tangles of her hair. Her face found the crook of his neck and she buried her eyes there.

"I've already told you this morning," she reasoned out, pressing herself tighter against him. She had a penchant for keeping him against her, as if she could solve the world's problems with his body heat.

Mulder couldn't help kissing her. She tasted exquisite, her skin on his lips was like fine wine - yes, it was intoxicating and he admitted that to himself as he planted another on her cheek. "You didn't tell me when it started. I could've done something about it."

"No... you couldn't have. They hated me from the start. They said I was too young to get this break... that I don't deserve the 'American dream'... that I don't deserve ..." Her stops were punctuated with sobs. Mulder swore he could hear his own heart breaking when she said those words. How could she even doubt herself? How could Scully doubt her own talent?

"Don't say that, Scully. Don't let them get to you, okay? You know that you deserve this more than anyone else. You have the passion, the talent... and I saw that in you. I want to give you what you deserve. Nothing's changing that belief of mine."

"... Thank ...you." was her mangled reply. Mulder tried to piece his heart together as he placed one last kiss on her forehead, before standing and making Scully sit up. He forgot - THEY forgot that she was still in her bohemian costume. He offered her the roll of tissue paper from the vanity table and she shyly took some to wipe her tears.

Mulder sat back on the couch, placing an arm around her thin shoulders and pulling her close to him.

"I don't want you to believe anything they say ever again, okay? You're the best dancer in this whole damn world and I'm keeping you that way. You should only listen to me about these things, no one should tell you otherwise. Remember, you're mine. You belong to me."

Scully didn't smile at that- like she normally would, but she placed her head on his chest - over his beating heart - and that was enough reply for him.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER TEN**

* * *

**A/N**: Wait, this is about to get exciting …


	14. Chapter Eleven: The Tropicana

**CHAPTER ELEVEN:**

* * *

The Tropicana  
Las Vegas  
May 6, 1985  
Monday

"This is madness! Absolute pure madness!"

Mulder tucked Emily's hand close to his chest as he dragged her through the riotous crowd. He laughed when they battled to get through the scantily-clad masses - ducking as horns piped over their heads, jumping over couples who were making out on the streets, dodging sparkling multi- colored confetti out of their way. Finally, they were able to reach the entrance of The Tropicana.

The stirrings of a noisy crowd were already blanketing the whole place, and to secure their front- row seats, Mulder had to quickly drag his daughter once again. He was feeling like Moses all of a sudden: parting the huge crowd with one sweep of his tall and lanky body. Emily didn't dare let go of his hand, and to make sure she didn't lose him, she gripped his shoulder tight.

"This is crazy, Dad!" she repeated, her mouth closer to his ear and still shouting despite their proximity. Mulder nodded eagerly in response. He was like a kid let loose in a candy store: he wanted to feel, taste, and see everything. This was Las Vegas at its finest and he brought his own daughter to see it for herself.

"Think of it as a wedding gift!" he called back at her, running towards their seats until he found their spots. They were propped with white cardboard pieces that had several "Fox Mulder" names scribbled on them. He shoved them aside and sat down with Emily beside him.

Emily brushed away confetti from her brunette hair; she glanced behind her and shook her head at the galactic size of the crowd that was starting to form and thicken.

"Is it always this... insane, Daddy?"

Mulder shrugged, pretending that he literally had no idea. Actually, he had a pretty good idea of how insane Las Vegas could get. He saw it every night when he woke up for a midnight snack or after settling Scully to sleep. He honestly believed that this was the mellower side of the strip.

His Emily was all sugar, all right. She was all sugar and sweet that she hadn't seen this side of Sin City _ever_. He was quite honored, as her father, that he was the one who could let her experience the REAL night life.

"Oh God... thank you for letting me leave Jeff behind. He'll go bonkers when he sees this crowd," she whispered to herself, not really meaning Mulder to hear it.

"Langly's keeping him company back at The Four Queens. Slot machines are a lot of fun, we

should try it tonight!" Mulder patted his daughter's hand, before letting it go. Emily smiled, obviously unsure of the idea her father presented.

"I think I'd be too tired to hit the machines tonight, Dad."

Mulder rolled his eyes dramatically while shaking his head at the same time. If Emily's going get married soon, she should at least see some _real _action in her life. That was the least he could do for her before she got tied down to a military man.

"C'mon, Em, this is so much fun already! We got to hit the night full force!"

Emily breathed deeply, hugging herself with her arms as she slid deeper into her seat. More people started vacating the seats around them, except for two that were adjacent Mulder. They were specifically reserved for Byers and Frohike (of course the smart ass wouldn't miss Spunk's first Las Vegas performance for the world). He also wanted John and Monica to come and see this, but Monica was already too far due to get on a plane or to battle through the craziness of the strip.

"This is one side of you that I haven't seen before, Daddy," his daughter said, and he couldn't tell whether her tone was disapproving or disbelieving.

She had never seen him during his party days. This was how he acted when he was in the mood for a mind blowing and earth-shattering _par-tay_.

He placed an arm around her shoulders, pressing her briefly to him. "Your Daddy's pretty happy tonight, honey, and he wants his baby to have fun too. Is that bad?" He spoke to her as if she was once again that five-year-old kid with pigtails. Emily responded the same way, looking up at him with his own puppy dog eyes and her lips curling up to a shy smile. Mulder kissed the top of her head and rubbed his hand on her shoulder. He couldn't help but grimace at the thick sweater she was wearing – despite the Las Vegas weather, nonetheless.

Sometimes, Emily was too prudish for him. He must have gone wrong somewhere in raising her when it came to her choice of fashion. It was summer, for crying out loud, and she was wearing a sweater. In Las Vegas.

"YO! Mulder!"

Hearing the familiar gruff voice, Mulder and Emily twisted in their seats, immediately catching

Frohike and Byers running towards them. He could see that the Las Vegas spirit had invaded their bodies faster than a thunderbolt: Byers' usual suit-and-tie attire was now replaced with cut- off sleeves that had the picture of Yoda on the front - possibly from one of Langley's vast collections of printed shirts. Frohike still had the dirty old man hat, only replacing his usual dirty shirt with a Hawaiian muumuu. Now, he looked like a dirty- old- man who needed a good lesson in geography. Mulder shrugged; Frohike obviously wanted to look fab for Spunk.

He resisted chuckling as he stood up to acknowledge his friends. He shook their hands while Emily pressed kisses on each of their cheeks. They all sat down and Mulder placed an arm around his daughter once again.

Frohike leaned into his ear, since he was beside Mulder. "I heard that you saw the dress rehearsals... how did Spunk do?"

"Why should I spoil it for you, Frohike?" He quickly glanced at his watch. Only four minutes before the show started. "It's almost beginning. You should see for yourself."

The DOM comically growled at him. "You're an asshole. You know that, don't you?"

Mulder grinned. "Scully's told me a thousand times."

"And you're also a lucky fucking bastard to be living with a lady like her."

"Some have it ...and some don't."

Frohike grumpily went back to his chair, making Byers smirk. It was always an inside joke for them to see who could make Frohike upset the fastest. Why make a fool out of the man? Because when Frohike was bothered, he would go into childish tantrums that rendered all three of them in laughing/crying fits. It was especially better when Frohike's had a beer or two. It was hysterical when they've finished a whole barrel of beer with some whiskey.

The lights around them dimmed, making some ladies who were unfortunately still looking for

their seats yelp in surprise. Emily huddled closer to Mulder and he chuckled as she did that. She sure was acting childish tonight. One big Sin City and a scared little Emily. Go figure.

"It's starting!" Byers exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. Mulder straightened up and realized how excited his companions were.

And even if he had seen it already, Mulder was excited too. His heart was pounding against his rib cage and he was careful that Emily didn't hear it. He could hardly wait for Scully to appear on stage so that he could watch her dance to that magical beat.

Dear Lord, he sure wanted to see her in that costume again.

Mulder shook his head in disapproval.

Crazy. He was becoming crazy living with that gorgeous woman every damn day. Crazy. That was what he told himself before and he was going keep telling himself the same thing until he got these crazy thoughts out of his fucking head.

The lights disappeared completely, which elicited gasps and shrieks from the audience. As the darkness coated them, he was almost thrown off balance by Emily. She clutched onto him as if for her dear life, and he had no choice but to hold her back so that he wouldn't fall.

Mulder's heart pounded triple- time. He had to inhale deeply a couple of times to steady himself.

He was so crazy excited he was about to ripped. He was crazy excited he was about to rip. He was so crazy excited he was about to rip open...

Damn. There went his grammar.

* * *

"Stop drooling, Frohike. Scully's part is over."

"She w- was... ! I swear, Mr. Fox Mulder, I'm going to marry her someday!"

This did nothing but shake Mulder's shoulders in laughter. "Your age difference is larger than ours, Mr. Melvin Frohike. Lay off her."

"Love conquers all." The love-stricken expression on Frohike's face made Mulder laugh again. The DOM was crazier than him. Byers once warned him that if Frohike started quoting love quotes, it was the point of no return. He was head over heels with Spunk, so no wonder Scully was slightly bothered whenever Mulder mentioned Frohike to her. She was never too keen on men who had crushes on her.

"Fuck you, old man. She'll shit bricks before she accepts any of your proposals," Byers chimed in, smacking his friend's back. Mulder silently nodded in agreement, turning his attention to the stage once again.

Rainbow colored dancers with breathtaking costumes designed to fit the bill of the 1920's period invaded the stage, spectacularly hitching up their legs for everyone to see their sheer underwear. Emily hid her face into her father's chest when that happened, and Mulder tried to pull her out of his front. His daughter was even worse than him. If she had been born in the flower power hippie decades of the sixties - with Woodstock and all that bullshit - she would've been craning her head to see all the explicit parts of the Folies Bergere dance show.

He REALLY, really must've gone wrong somewhere along the way in raising this kid.

He remembered Scully and he abruptly stood up, disentangling from his daughter. Emily stared up at him, asking with her eyes where the hell he thought he was going.

Above the stage's noises and the crowd's absolution with the act, he shouted, "I'M GOING TO GO SEE HER! PICK HER UP AND THEN WE CAN GO AND HAVE SOME REAL FUN, OK?" He turned to Frohike and Byers, "TAKE CARE OF EMILY FOR ME, I'LL BE BACK IN A JIFFY."

Emily timidly acknowledged this and Byers filled in Mulder's seat to be closer to Mulder's

daughter. Byers had the best relationship with his family. The guy could've been Emily's surrogate father had Mulder traded in his parenthood for a happy- go- lucky life.

Tapping Emily on the shoulder to assure her that he would return, he bounded off towards the back of the Tropicana's stage.

Scully gave him a spare key to her dressing room before the show, telling him that if he needed to see her after her performance, he was more than welcome to enter. The key was courtesy of Mr. Jayson.

Sliding the cold key into the lock, he twisted the door open and knocked just to be sure.

"Scully?" he called out, his voice soft. The outside of the stage was frenzied, but the backstage itself was eerily quiet. Mulder guessed that Scully was the only dancer there at the backstage, since most of her colleagues were outside, giving the audience their fulfillment.

"I'm right here." With that invitation, Mulder opened the door.

Scully stood in front of a large, full-length mirror, studying her reflection intently. She still was fully made-up and was still wearing her bohemian costume. Absentmindedly, she ran her hands down the bodice of her silky skirt. Mulder closed the door behind him, not turning as the lock slid in shut and the noises outside disappeared.

He hovered close to her, chewing on his lower lip as he finally got to see Scully up close.

Even with the first- row seats that were given to them, it still was hard to see Scully from all the

blinking lights and the mesmerizing beat of her body. This time, he could see the tiny diamonds that were arranged intricately on her forehead, the sparkling red lipstick that enhanced the dip of her lower lip, the small patterns of crystal beads on her bare midriff, the two giant jewels that were attached to the corners of her eyes.

She was a goddess, a living goddess. Dare he say this: Aphrodite herself.

Mulder reminded himself to breathe as he approached her. He smiled awkwardly as he stood directly behind her petite body and placed a shaky hand on her shoulder.

Scully tore her eyes away from her reflection to look up at him. "That was some crowd back there. How did I do?"

He tried to quickly arrange his thoughts so that he would not lose his grammar. After a beat, he answered back, "You were wonderful. I'm proud of you, Scully."

She smiled up at him, satisfied, and returned to the mirror. She gazed at herself with awe and he thought that he must be doing the same, too.

"Here I am, Las Vegas, Folies Bergere and all... I'm wondering why it feels surreal."

"Let it sink in, Scully. When you hope so much for something … sometimes, it happens too fast that you don't grasp the fact that it's already happening." He hoped that made sense for her.

"I guess so." It probably did.

She ran her hands over the pattern of her whole costume all over again: starting from her teased and upturned hair that was graced with the same tiny diamonds that were all over her face, to her intricately made-up face, to her collar bone, down to the swell of her breasts and then at her hips.

Mulder swallowed, hoping that she didn't hear him. She was forgetting that there was a man inside the room and she shouldn't be doing that in front of_ any_ man who was living, breathing, and yes, red-blooded.

To change the subject and break the tension he was feeling (only HE was feeling, apparently), Mulder motioned towards a darkened part of the dressing room behind him. "Have you seen my surprise?" he whispered in her ear, watching her eyes become curious in the mirror. She shook her head, hiding a grin from spreading out on her lips.

He gripped her hand and asked her to close her eyes. She obediently did, finally releasing her grin.

Mulder pulled her towards the far end of the dressing room, groping for the lights. When he finally found the switch, he studied the present he bought a few hours before the show. He was quite sure that Scully was going to be ecstatic when she got to see this. Emily specifically added some sweet touches to the surprise, telling him that even if Scully was all Spunk, she would appreciate some tenderness from her "friend." His daughter actually made air quotation marks when she said that last word. He honestly was too excited about the present that he didn't even process what his daughter meant by that.

He jerked her hand, signaling her to open her eyes. She did, and the grin that played on her crimson lips suddenly turned to a gasp.

Sprawled before them was a life- size bouquet of humongous lilies, which seemed to shine despite the meager light of the dressing room. A glittery sign above all the flowers proclaimed "Congratulations!" underneath a 3- inched teddy bear that was hugging four white roses.

Scully bent over to gently pick the teddy bear up, hugging it close to her body and removing the roses from the bear's paws. She also found a card tucked under the bear's arm and opened it, reading the contents aloud:

"To my Scully. For being able to dance her dream, for making me feel like shit 24/7..." An arched eyebrow met that. Mulder raised his hands in innocence. She continued, "... And for making me feel that I deserve all of her 24/7. Mulder." She closed the card, tucking it back under the teddy bear's arm.

Leaning close to his present, she sniffed with that patrician nose of hers the scent of the lilies. He didn't know what she smelled from them, since his oversized nose didn't smell a damn thing.

But she looked so happy taking a whiff of the lilies' scent that he thought that there were some things he needed to learn from Scully.

"They are beautiful, Mulder. I never thought you'd be so...sweet." Her voice cracked as she tried to hide the overwhelming feelings she obviously had with the unexpected surprise. Unfortunately for her, Mulder understood what was going on, so he stepped forward and brought her to his arms. He didn't buy the present to make her cry; he bought it to make her happy - to make her feel that she deserved all of this.

His hug surprised Scully; she caught herself on his chest, staring up at him, her eyes a misty blue. He gingerly kissed her forehead, selfishly relishing in her unique scent. A thought dashed through his head: Scully's future husband would be pretty lucky to have someone as amazing as her.

The teddy bear was dropped back to its flowery cradle. "I'm okay, really," she argued, but did not get her point across. She knew as well as he knew that she wasn't: this was her dream, this was her life- long fulfillment, and yet, she felt doubtful.

She rested her forehead on Mulder's chest, listening to his heartbeat quietly.

"Thank you," Scully told him. When he heard that, he moved both of them towards the full- length mirror without breaking their embrace. Upon reaching the mirror, he turned Scully so that she was facing her own reflection - so she could see how beautiful she was, so that she could see how _he_ saw her. He wanted her to accept that she deserved this chance more than anyone else.

"Look at yourself," he ordered, his mouth close to her ear once more. She did as he asked, blushing at the sight of her reddened eyes. She once told him that she embarrassed herself too much in front of him because of her constant need for comfort. It was more a statement than a question, so Mulder didn't say anything back. Truth was, he didn't think she was showing too much of herself to him... he has always thought that Scully might cry in his arms, she might let herself need him, but she never did show her true colors. She never showed her true vulnerability. She never showed the true Dana.

"Why do I have to look at myself?"

"I want you to see how beautiful you are. You deserve this more than anyone else, okay? You don't have to ever listen to them again," he encouraged her, putting both of his arms on her hips and resting his head on her shoulder. A few glitters sprinkled on the junction of his thumb and index finger, his skin glistening in gold, like hers did.

Scully studied her reflection for a second, from the top of her head to the tip of toes, then at his own. He moved his head down to her cheek, rested his lips there for a dawning moment, and then moved away.

She grinned genuinely now, pressing her face to his cheek. He had the strangest notion that she was breathing his scent in, before she said, "What are we waiting for? Let's hit the streets. It's our last night in Vegas."

* * *

They had to retrieve their other three companions from The Tropicana before the evening 10 PM show started. That was when the dancers go onstage topless. Mulder didn't want Emily to see that after noticing her reaction with the most conservative parts of the show. Langley did suggest that the guys go out and see it, while Emily and Spunk kept each other company. Mulder didn't give a yes or no; just that he would think about it.

The night was young - still a few hours before the crack of dawn - and Mulder wanted to make the most out of it. He hadn't partied much for some time now, since he had been busy with work and Emily's wedding. He missed the adrenaline of partying - the excitement of it all.

They had a table for eight at _The Voodoo Lounge_ by the time that topless show was starting, and everyone was high on wine. Emily was dirty dancing with Jeffrey in the middle of the floor (Mulder decided that he didn't want to look at that one), and the three stooges left him and Scully suddenly, telling him that they wanted to see the topless show after all. Frohike promised to come back later on to have a small chat with Scully, after she had finished three bottles of wine. Scully called back that it would take ten bottles of wine before she would even consider entertaining him.

By that time, wine definitely got rid of their inhibitions.

He had officially finished a whole bottle of chilled French wine with Scully, and they were feeling high and cheery as an after-effect. Scully still had her full make- up on, even if the blue gown had long been shucked off, replaced with a tummy baring asymmetrical knitted shirt and low- cut Levis. The combination of her bohemian make- up and casual wear was a cross between classy and sporty. And as usual, she was beautiful. Even with the wine present in his bloodstream, he could not refute that fact.

The techno- pseudo-new wave beats were drowned out by the crowd's chatters and was soon replaced by George Michael's _Careless Whisper_. It was one new wave song that he actually liked.

Scully was bothered by the dirty napkins on the table and with her lack of dexterity, she was actually making the mess worse. Mulder reached over to retrieve her hand from the sloppy stack of used napkins she had been piling on top of each other, and with his best puppy dog eyes (and face, he couldn't forget that), he asked her to dance. Scully's dilated pupils lightened up and they dragged each other towards the dance floor. Couples who had the liberty of petting each other heavily were now filling the space up. Making sure that they weren't around Jeffrey and Emily, Mulder opted for a neither heavily- lighted or heavily- darkened spot.

He swung Scully towards his chest, nestling his hands on her lower back. She at once placed her head over his chest - over his beating heart once again - while one hand rested on his chest. The soft porcelain skin of her fingertips was too tempting to resist, and Mulder gave in to this, linking his fingers with hers and dropping it at their sides. Scully sighed into his t- shirt.

_I feel so unsure  
__As I take your hand  
__And lead you to the dance floor_

"This is nice," he murmured hoarsely, his head swaying from side to side with the music.

Scully's eyes closed; he could see her lips still glistening with wine. "Yes... this is rather nice," she returned, pointing her chin at his chest and looking up at him.

She noticed that she had a penchant for looking at him whenever she needed assurance; she would always search his eyes as if they held the truth of all truths.

Oh yes, her future husband will be very, very lucky.

_As the music dies  
__Something in your eyes  
__Calls to mind a silver screen  
__And all its sad goodbyes_

His mind was a playground of hazy surroundings: of Scully and her scent, of the wine and its incriminating effects. All that was happening bedazzled him and maybe he was a tad bit drunk, but holding Scully right there and right now felt so right for Mulder. The way her skin slid against his felt like heaven. The way her breasts pushed up against his chest was slowly driving him to the edge, and the feel of her lower back was like fine satin, even finer than the best patented milk in the whole fucking world.

Shit... he was not going to say the _F_ word when he was drunk, when he had not washed his hair, when he was holding...

_I'm never gonna dance again  
__Guilty feet have got no rhythm  
__Though it's easy to pretend_

The list was lost to him. Mulder shut the world around him tightly in a zip- lock bag, stapling it a hundred times over and over again. He forgot about his nosy mind, so he made a whole new zip- lock bag to store it inside of.

He needed this. He _needed_ her. Wine be damned. Everyone be damned.

Mulder lowered his head, catching Scully's eyes with his own.

And he kissed her.

_I know you're not a fool  
__I should have known better than to cheat a friend  
__And waste a chance that I've been given_

_Kiss_ was an overstatement. The meeting of their lips was more of a simple movement against each other's - a chance to feel each other's plump mouth against, and a chance to taste what could be beyond.

He bathed in the ecstasy of her warmth for a few glorious seconds, before Scully pulled away from him. It wasn't as if he was kissing her with full passion, but her retreating surprised him nonetheless.

_So I'm never gonna dance again  
__The way I danced with you._

"WH- what... what..." Scully stepped away from him, as if he has morphed into the El Chupacabra, the Mexican goatsucker. Mulder also backed away, unintentionally running his tongue over what remained of her on his lips.

He was going to say it now: FUCK. F-U-C-K.

Fox William Mulder made a big, big, big mistake.

She still looked so shocked and Mulder defensively tried to get a hold of her. However, she moved away from him even more, almost hitting a French- kissing couple behind her. Muttering a small "sorry," she headed towards the table, with him hot at her heels.

"Scully!" he shouted, making the romantics hiss at his interruption. He paid them no attention as he dove forward, catching Spunk by her wrist. She was ready to leave. To leave him. To leave without even trying to amend what happened.

She struggled from his grip, her teeth gritting.

"LET ME GO!"

"I WON'T DARE!"

"LET. ME. GO!" she shouted back, tears pooling around her eyes.

"No, I can't do that!" With one pull, he was able to bring her back, crashing into his chest. He held her there with a death grip, tilting her face so that she could look at him like she always did: eye-to-eye.

"Scully, listen... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do what I did-"

Those tears sprang free, making her mascara run down her cheek. He wanted so badly to wipe them away, but he had to hold her in that place so she'd listen... and if he touched her even more, she might actually faint from the confusion.

"- And maybe it's the wine... but I didn't mean it. Scully, please, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it..."

Right grammar was eluding him again. Mulder struggled, his tongue knotting itself. "Please forgive me, I can't... I can't... I didn't mean it... I just didn't..."

Scully closed her eyes briefly, and then opened them, making more dark tears run down her glossy cheeks. "Mulder …"

"It was on impulse... it's the wine... I'm drunk, YOU'RE drunk yourself, please understand the fu- damn situation... Scully..."

"Mulder …"

He stepped on the brakes, hearing her voice all of a sudden. The sound didn't register in his short circuiting mind.

"I... need some time alone, okay?"

Oh no. She was going give him the speech: THE speech to end all speeches. She couldn't do this to him - not to him, of all the people. They were tied to each other with a cast iron ribbon, thrown together in a marriage that evaded all the laws of marriage itself. She couldn't do this to him. Mulder shook his head furiously. Scully was his. She couldn't do this to him!

"I need some time alone," she said, breaking free of his grip. Three steps were taken from him, before she continued speaking, "It's...really no big deal, you know? It's all okay, I understand... I just need some time alone. Nothing's going change, blimey."

_Nothing was going to change._ His inner voice mocked that statement. _Yeah, right. _

Scully turned her back to him and headed to the exit, wiping her tears on her sleeves as she did. Leaving him alone. Standing alone and feeling like a complete, inconsiderate, testosterone- driven, crazy, drunk asshole, fucking jerk.

_Now that you're gone  
__Was what I did so wrong?  
__So wrong that you had to leave me alone._

The song had wrong timing.

Mulder snatched a wine glass from their table and threw it towards one of the large speakers of the Lounge. Ladies screamed in surprise as pieces of the glass flew all over and he stared at the commotion he created, not even flinching as he caught Emily and Jeff running towards him from the corner of his eye.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER ELEVEN**

* * *

**A/N:** For this scene, think _Millennium's_ kiss if the world _did_ end!


	15. Chapter Twelve

**CHAPTER TWELVE:**

* * *

May 14, 1985

Dear Melissa, 

I have nothing much to tell you about this month. The days were all huge blurs for me – like the random strangers you see on the platform of a train station when you are on the train, helplessly whizzing pass by them. I have been saddened recently and … it is not something new for you, is it?

I've performed in Las Vegas in the 6th of May and the whole ensemble itself was a wonderful experience for me. I've finally danced my dream. I've finally done it.

Missy, sometimes when I am all alone in my room at night, I still hear you whispering in my ear those parting words you told me the day I left for America. Do you remember? You told me that I wouldn't get anywhere in America. You told me that I was fucking cliché to pursue my own "American dream."

What if I listened, Missy? What if I stayed? What if I am in Wales today and I'm sitting with you, Charles, Bill, and your baby in front of our old fireplace right now?

Recently, I have been wondering whether my decision has been right all along. I wouldn't lie: at first, it was right; at first, it was perfect. I got the opportunity to dance in Las Vegas _finally_ after dreaming about it for years.

I wonder, now, if that has changed. Do I still feel that it is right? Do I still feel that it is perfect? Do I still feel that I belong here? If I did stay in Wales, will I still be who I am today? Will I still be the Dana Katherine Scully I believe myself to be now?

My purpose here confuses me, Melissa. I cry myself to sleep and I wake up the next morning as if I have never slept at all. At least when I get up and look at myself at the mirror, I laugh at my reflection because that means that I still have something to laugh about. Laughing seems to be such an effort lately. I don't know. Maybe I'm just stressed out here. Maybe I'm tired. Maybe I need to get away from this place – the very same place I chose to go to after getting away from Wales.

I shouldn't ramble anymore. I hope you write back and tell me all about your baby. Is it a boy or a girl? What's the name?

Give my love and kisses to Charles and Bill, please.

_Anrhega 'm cara at Fam. Hi s 'm gwarchodwr drwo pawb hon anhrefn yno._

Signed,  
Dana

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER TWELVE**


	16. Chapter Thirteen: Mulder Manor

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

* * *

Mulder Manor  
Beverly Hills, Los Angeles  
May 17, 1985  
Friday

Mulder had been going through the pile of last minute wedding invitations that Emily dumped on his head an hour ago, making sure that the addresses were correct and the names on them were polished. The flowery scent of the beige and soft orange envelopes was already permanently imprinted onto Mulder's nostrils and he was getting nauseated with the mere feel of its silky paper. He wanted to move around so that he could take care of the upcoming movie; he wanted...

A door creaked open from upstairs and out came Scully. Emily was behind her and they were quietly conversing about something he didn't -but wanted to - know about. Mulder pretended to be busy with the invitations, checking if the names "Ringgo Langley, Melvin Frohike, and John Fitzgerald Byers" were printed correctly.

Since their move back to Los Angeles, Scully had been treating him with eerie coolness - as if time had suddenly flipped them back to the moment they first met. They had talked about the "big mistake" Mulder committed (like a fucking crime) in The Voodoo Lounge, chalked it up to the wine since it was the convenient scapegoat, and Scully even assured him with this: "No bother, Mulder, I understand. It was just a mistake, because of the wine. I'm still yours, you know. Nothing like that could come in the way of our purpose here."

If that was so, then why was she treating him like a pest, a cockroach? He once tried holding her hand during the turbulent flight back to Los Angeles (since she was starting to turn plae) and she swatted him away with a jerk, eliciting stifled laughter from their fellow passengers. They must've thought that they were having a lover's quarrel. _Ha_, if only it was THAT easy between them.

He had told Emily about it, purposely sugarcoating his version of the "unexpected" kiss. His daughter listened to this issue patiently, but afterwards, she dismissed it with this: "You two still have a long way to go, Daddy. It'll be okay."

_Ha_,okay was an overstatement, too.

Mulder didn't deny it, because it was true: he missed Scully and her charming Spunk-like attitude, her constant need for his attention and care, her watery blue eyes, and the way she looked at him as if he was the most important man in the world. Even if they were under the same roof, it seemed as if they were living in two separate continents.

"So, do you understand it now, Dana?" Emily's voice came closer from behind him.

"Yes. Thanks." Scully's answer sounded brighter, and he recognized from sheer instinct that she was smiling when she said those words to his daughter. God, he missed the way she smiled, too. She hadn't been smiling at him for weeks now.

"Excuse me, Emily, but I have to fix something in my room."

He heard Emily mutter a pleasant "okay," when Scully walked towards her room across where he was seated and locked the door shut.

Mulder began to furiously skim through the at-least-a-hundred envelopes before him (Mrs. Spender apparently invited ALL five chapters of her garden club), intending to finish it all so he'd be able to ask Emily what she and Scully were talking about.

A clink on the coffee table made him look up. It was Emily. She was placing a plateful of sunflower seeds for him to munch on while going through the invites. Mulder smiled at her appreciatively.

Emily sat down next to Mulder, collecting the handful that he had just finished inspecting.

"How's it going?" she asked, taking a seed from the plate herself.

Mulder also took a few, suddenly feeling the need to stuff his mouth with a lot of seeds. He controlled himself though – he didn't want to dirty up the pretty invitations. "Fine, really. Fine."

"Fine like _hell_?" Emily supplied, making both of them laugh. "I'm sorry, Daddy... Mom promised she'll do this, but it seems like she's not available for today. You know her ..."

"Yeah, she's busy, that's why we don't really count on her, right?"

Emily sighed disappointedly, resting her head on Mulder's shoulder. It was true: after the divorce, Diana had not really been around to spend time with Emily. Mulder always wondered why, for when they separated, he thought that there were no hard feelings between them and that they together would work to raise Emily. Unfortunately, Diana had other plans and he had no other choice but to respect that.

The wedding was the closest thing Emily could ever have as a chance to bond with her mother. Mulder's only logical conclusion was that after all those years, Diana was still hurting with the fact that Emily had chosen his custody over hers – but what did she expect? Emily had always been Daddy's girl.

His daughter began to go through the invitations herself, "How's it going with Dana?"

The quick change in subject didn't surprise Mulder. The topic of his ex-wife had never really been high on their collective list of favorite topics, but this new subject she presented wasn't exactly what he had in mind, either.

"Uhh ... no change." That was ironic: the word _change._ He had been told over and over again the past few weeks that _change_ wasn't possible, yet it was the only thing happening to him and Scully.

Emily sadly tucked her arm under Mulder's free bicep, still noisily chewing on her seed. "Oh, Daddy ... You know, it'll be fine soon enough. I could see that she cares for you."

Sure. Fine. That was something.

Scully _cared_ for him? This, finally, was an overstatement. He might care for Scully, but _her_ caring for him? That was not possible. The woman needed him, but not care - that wasn't part of the script between them - and he had accepted a long time ago that it would never be. That idea was funny, just as funny as this conversation. Really, Emily should stop humoring him. He had enough humor from these floral-scented invitations.

A sunflower seed cracked in his mouth. "Em, honey, you shouldn't worry about us. You're getting married in a week and I want you to be focused on that alone."

"But I'm your daughter, and your business is _my_ business."

Mulder grinned widely, despite himself. There were a billion of reasons why he loved his daughter - and her being so considerate was one of them.

In silence, they picked through the invitations once again. Mulder was reading the contents of one particular invitation when something caught his eye. He ran his eyes over the invitation at least enough times for him to make sure that it was addressed to whom he thought it was for.

That confirmed, he shakily waved the damn thing in the air, towards Emily.

"Emily, you are not inviting your Aunt Samantha, are you?"

His daughter stared back at him with innocent hazel eyes that were a mirror image of his own.

"Why? Is that illegal?" she said, with pure confidence stroking her ego. Mulder groaned heavily, rubbing his temples in reflex. His own daughter was using his own words against him. Open mouth, insert whole leg in.

This couldn't - plain COULDN'T- be happening!

"Honey, you know that I ... we are not in good terms with Samantha," he argued steadily, holding his point out on his own battle cry. Emily hesitated, and then charged with a more impressive battle cry than his.

"Aunt Sam is _still_ your sister, Daddy. And she promised me that she'll come to my wedding day." A proud grin betrayed his daughter's pleadings, and immediately, Mulder knew that Samantha would be invited to the wedding. The image of his sister crept like a leech in Mulder's active mind, and he had to bite a sunflower seed hard to push it away.

"When did she give that particular promise again, Em?" He didn't mean to put a disgusted emphasis on the pronoun _she_.

She scraped her gently elbow against her Dad's rib cage. "When I was 9, she told me that we'll do like Barbie's wedding and she'll be there to witness it all."

Mulder wanted to shake his head in disagreement - but didn't. Not when Emily looked as if she really believed what Samantha told her. Another sunflower seed cracked in between his teeth. "If that's so, how the hell are you going to reach your Aunt?"

His daughter remained expressionless as she processed that question.

Mulder didn't really have a big grudge towards his one and only sister - a particular statement that he had tried to defend over the years that his relationship with her was discussed. He didn't despise her the way he despised Alex Kryceck, but what she had done to their family would always be carved somewhere in Mulder's soul.

For the first good years of his life, Fox William Mulder lived in a suburban paradise, complete with many properties under his own name (all ready for his adulthood) - a wonderful mother and father to vouch for that, and a popularity level in high school that would rival any jock's. Life was perfect, or so he believed - until the day that he was processing his college application to Harvard, Samantha (then fifteen) came home with the biggest surprise of all. And that surprise came in the presence of policemen swarming their suburban paradise.

Apparently, Samantha had been involved in drug trafficking somewhere in downtown Massachusetts. True enough, they found enormous packs of marijuana, cocaine, and heroine hidden underneath her bed mattress inside her bedroom. Their mother fainted right then and their father trying to revive his wife on the spot. Mulder looked on, shell-shocked and unable to process what was going on.

Needless to say, after Samantha's arrest for juvenile prison, the Mulders had to move to a whole new state to escape the growing antagonism and malicious rumors from the community they once loved.

Mulder could've forgiven Samantha if that was the only case.

But William Mulder, Sr., his father, died shortly after the chaos. Samantha's former "comrades" hunted his father down as an act of revenge against her sister. They blamed the annihilation of their drug ring to her stupidity, and it was Mr. Mulder who they found that day. They clubbed him to death, until his blood literally coated the sidewalk where he died.

Mulder always believed that if Samantha hadn't screwed her life up too early, if she just didn't rebel against the perfection of their family … then these events would never have happened.

Since then, his life was never the same.

He escaped this in turn by partying and smoking pot with John, eventually ending into another horrifying twist of fate - his marriage with Diana, and eventually, the best blessing he could ever have: Emily.

Samantha had been released from jail when Emily was 8 and he took her back in his own house (he still lived in downtown Los Angeles back then with Diana). But with the life his sister had chosen, it was understood that she would always be on the move.

So she ran against time, avoiding the world, hiding from her "comrades." When a rock broke Mulder's window back then with the words _"BITCH WE'LL GET YOU"_ inscribed on it, he knew that Samantha would be running once again. And that was what she did.

As for him, he had to move to Beverly Hills - a more upscale neighborhood where he could protect his own daughter.

No one should ever ask him why he had this so-called hatred for Samantha. NO ONE should ever do, if they wanted their faces intact for tomorrow.

He and his daughter basked in complete comfortable silence for minutes, until Emily spoke up, drinking from his glass of strawberry juice. "Dad, I have to tell you a small something, by the way, and Jeff is going to come and pick me up any minute now."

He ignored the insistent desire to ask her why the hell "Jeff" kept picking her up every damn day when they'd be spending the rest of their lives together, anyway. "Yeah, what's that?" Mulder opened an envelope that had the name of "Dana Katherine Scully" on it. He couldn't help but smile as he studied the invitation. Emily had told him of her desire to invite Scully, and he said that he'd do the honors, but Em also wanted it to be formal - even if they were temporarily living under one roof. She wanted an invitation to go with the personal invite. Go figure.

"I'd be leaving this house in two weeks, and there are still other matters to be settled ... like that continued deposit of $5000 in your account."

"The asshole's still depositing, honey?"

"Yes - and the bank's more discreet than ever. They did suggest that it most probably would be from one of your many investments - or one of Grandpa's investments. You should ask Grandma after the wedding," she suggested, still avoiding the real topic she wanted to discuss. Mulder noticed this as he was tucking Scully's invitation back into its envelope.

"What do you want to tell me?"

Emily shifted slightly in her seat, crossing one leg over the other. Her knee- length skirt rode up to her thigh, and Mulder pushed it back down to its correct length with dismay. As a father, he was not at all strict when it came to clothes, but he was worried about Jeff getting an impromptu peep show. She laughed at his over-protectiveness, continuing, "I taught Dana everything about your finances - how to do your expense reports, your bank accounts, your ..."

Those words didn't register fairly well in Mulder's radar. He was still picking at the envelopes when it hit him.

"... Your credit cards, transactions, etcetera." Emily beamed at him sweetly.

"Emily," Mulder digested the course of panic throbbing within his heart. This wasn't really

happening was it? This was just an unfortunate dream and he would wake up in that apartment in Las Vegas in his OWN bed, ALONE and that damn kiss didn't happen, and Samantha's not coming to the wedding, and Emily didn't do something that he would forever regret.

"Emily," he repeated, not caring if she heard the desperate and anxious rasp in his voice. He groped for more sunflower seeds and tasted the saltiness. "Please tell me that you're lying."

"I don't lie to you, Dad."

That's his life's biggest problem: too many people telling him the truth.

"Honey," he said, facing her and keeping his voice down. "You know our situation here - Dana and I aren't in good terms ... and I don't want anything else to complicate this issue between us."

"It's not going to complicate it, Dad," Emily defended, her voice rising. "Dana's what you need right now that I'm going away. We both know that you cannot manage paperwork well, especially with this directing debut that's just around the corner. She'll be here for a long time and she could help you."

"Emily ... not that I doubt you or your idea, and not that I don't trust Dana ... however, my passwords …"

"Passwords are still for your knowledge alone. I didn't give her the golden key to your files, Dad. I just taught her to do the basic paperwork. The important files in your bank accounts are your responsibility. That's something I'm going to teach _you_." Seeing that Mulder quieted down,

Emily continued, "Dana's the only one in this house who's not busy and who's smart enough to get a good track of what you're doing. She's the only one I could think of."

It was some time before Mulder replied. Finishing the invitations, Mulder stacked them in neat rows and columns that would make Scully proud.

"Fine. It's okay, I hope that she doesn't include in the expense reports the cost of my monthly subscription for Playboy Magazine," he joked, and Emily laughed heartily.

Deep inside of him, he knew that if Scully would've gotten that idea, she'd go ahead and do it.

She would always surprise him - a thing that he had taken for granted when he took her into his own home.

A car honked from outside of his Manor, alerting Emily. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek; her laughter subsiding to sudden giddiness that Mulder didn't think he liked at all. He let her go with no more words, though, and she bounded off to meet with her knight in shining armor.

Or knight in a shining Ford, all spruced up to meet his very own Queen.

* * *

Mulder felt like a peeping tom at the moment, lingering outside Scully's bedroom, watching her soft deliberate movements as she concentrated on a black and white magazine laid out before her. Her whole body was propped up on the soft cushion of her single bed and was surrounded by white papers that could either be his finance reports or random pages of their script that she wanted to pay particular attention to. Ever since the script landed in her hands, she had been running around with it: citing quotes, passages, and re-enacting special moments which she thought deserved her extra attention. Back in Las Vegas, in their dingy two- person apartment, Scully even allowed him to participate in some scenes that had dialogues. He would sit back on the couch while she delivered or acted out some lines that she believed Mulder could coach. Occasionally, he would also read the lines of other characters in different voices, which would make them both laugh afterwards.

Scully was a good actress - not the best (yet) - but good enough for the movie, and with his directing, he knew that she could be better. She was also a very driven woman - she wanted to seize every opportunity before her and when she did, she gave it her absolute best.

_Kill him now_, Mulder's inner thoughts hissed. Kill him now, because he missed the girl terribly.

The exact reason he was standing outside her doorway, as if on a prowl and peering through the small slits of the jarred door, was because of the small pill he held in one hand and the glass of cold water in the other. It was time to drink her medicine: the ferrous sulfate or iron tablets. He was afraid that she had been neglecting her health lately, since he had no idea whether she was drinking the iron pills or eating the liver cuisine Mulder asked Jenny to make. They had been avoiding each other like a plague in his own house, which made him berate himself even more for his stupidity back in Vegas.

Not that he doubted her responsibility over her own condition - she did study medicine for a year in university - however, Mulder took pride in taking care of a responsible woman. And this pride was beckoning him that exact moment and he wanted to aid it.

Using all of his remaining strength, he knocked softly on the door, pushing it even more ajar for him to see all of her.

Scully lifted her head from the magazine, her eyes widening in what he could call as _delayed shock _when she saw that it was him. She made a move to stand up and appear more presentable (not that it mattered - her baggy jeans and cut- off shirt were okay for Mulder), which resulted in a tidal wave of papers onto the floor. She apparently forgot that she was lying down beside a stack of papers.

Mulder shut his eyes momentarily in dread, fearing that Scully would shove him out or order him outside with her usual Spunk bark.

Swallowing that thought and the saliva that suddenly became unpleasant at the back of his throat, he encouraged himself to step into the room and loom over her as she tried to pick up the mess she had made. Typical Scully: she would rather fix the clutter first before ask him what the hell he was doing in her room.

"Uh, Scully?" his voice croaked. His own sound seemed foreign to him.

The effects of this woman on him were incredulous. There was now a large toad in his throat and its staying there with its squiggly arms crossed in non-cooperation.

Her ponytail bobbed up and down, a signal that she was listening to him. Her deathly pale white fingers worriedly piled up the pieces of paper with ignition, pausing only once or twice to see if they were sorted correctly.

If the effects of Scully on him were incredulous, he hoped that this was his effect on her. It should be, just so that the universe is fair to both of them.

"I brought you your medicine."

She didn't seem to hear him. She continued stacking the papers, tapping them on the ground to align them and pushing them aside as she made another pile.

Mulder sighed heavily, causing her to stop for a minute, and then moving on when he decided to place the pill and glass of water atop at the vanity table across her bed.

It was the best move he could think of - or that his mind allowed him to think of- because he crouched down beside her before he could even talk himself out of it and started helping her pick those damn papers up.

He was at his fourth piece of paper when Scully shot him a look that spelled "death" clearer than the day. Mulder doubled over, swallowing as she maintained that look. She held it until he handed her the papers, which she grabbed with rough rustling, and until he rose to his feet.

He wasn't going to give up that easily, of course. _Sans courage_.

Sitting back down on her bed, he stole a glance at the magazine she was reading. The seemingly crappy edition opened carelessly at an article that says: "The fight to immune ourselves from the AIDS plague."

She REALLY was interested in medicine.

Flipping through the thing, he saw that the magazine was from one of those free publishing companies that come up with small magazine- like pamphlets which people hand out in subways and streets to passers-by. These were the kind of magazines that big companies reject because their materials were either too alarmist or too candid for the mass public.

Naturally, it would attract Scully like a moth to a flame. Her pamphlet was particularly entitled as "Medicine's Epidemic: A candid portrayal of AIDS' real threat to the public."

By the time he was cradling the medicine newsletter in his arms, running through the pages with piqued interest, Scully was done fixing her papers and she had them in order once again on the bed, a few meters beside him.

She stood there for minutes, until he caught her looking at him.

"Oh, umm..." He dropped the magazine on his side. "It's interesting stuff."

Scully sighed, sauntering over to where he disposed of her water and medicine. Without any words, she inhaled the damn tablet and finished drinking the water.

Mulder, desperate for a conversation (old habits die hard, especially when you have been conversing ONLY with this particular woman every single day for two months), snatched the magazine once again and opened it to the aforementioned article.

"What do you know about this AIDS disease?"

Scully tapped the empty glass in her free hand, casually bending over so that she could rest her ass on the vanity table. "Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome, Mulder, if you do not know what the abbreviation stands for. It is not a disease - these are diseases that that are from the suppression of the immune system when it is infected with HIV, or Human Immunodeficiency Virus." She sighed yet again, putting down the glass beside her, continuing her talk, "An HIV- infected person does not necessarily mean instant death - it could take years before the person would suffer with a sickness like Pneumocystis carinii pneumonia or commonly known in layman's term as PCP. But as I've said, these are diseases, so the infected person could also be diagnosed with tuberculosis and bacterial pneumonia. Weight loss, diarrhea, paleness, fever are symptoms of the advanced stages of the AIDS virus. Fungal infections are also not common."

_Wow. _

Mulder shook his head in disbelief, taking it all in. The facts she had been mouthing at him were all easy to process –what was hard to process was the weight of Scully's brain cells. She was actually very, very, very smart. Maybe if she had finished university, she would've graduated with top honors -like him. If they were in the same school, they would've been in stiff competition, calling each other names and racing to their professors to get the highest grades.

Wow. You really know YOUR stuff, _Dana_.

He would've said _that _if they were in competition.

Mulder cleared his throat, gathering every single piece of information he could remember from his early morning listening to Don Imus' on WNBC. That was not much, actually, since the broadcaster was keener on the jokes than on the facts itself. Eddie Murphy wasn't much help either.

He had admitted it a long time ago: spending most of his time in the superficial reality of Hollywood dampened his knowledge. There was not much around in Hollywood to use your brain for, actually. You made decisions based on actions, practicality, politics, marketability – and only occasionally what you went by in school.

"The AIDS virus has only affected a large sum of the gay community. There hadn't really been any big news about it affecting anyone who's straight or who's monogamous. Why make such a big fuss about it?" Yes, the subject was new to him. The said outbreak only occurred in 1980, and there wasn't much to be said. Five years later, there still seemed to be nothing much to be said about it at all.

Scully chewed on her lower lip carefully. "What you are citing is _medical homophobia_. I understand that the statistics suggest that only the gay community is being affected; however, this disease could also be transmitted through blood donations, sexual relationships with prostitutes who had once pleasured anyone with the HIV virus -the possibilities about this epidemic are endless, Mulder. It is a worldwide concern. The homosexuals shouldn't be the only people in this fight. We are with them in on this. We should fight this with them, especially with the growing rate of young children being affected too."

What impressed him the most about Scully was his knowledge that she was Catholic - she believed in the teaching of the church reverently and wore a golden cross on a chain around her neck most of the time to probably prove it - but she never would go to church itself or to a mass. It was as if she had given up on prayer and decided that she'd take care of her own fate.

He would've called her a lapsed Catholic if only she didn't keep wearing that necklace.

"I realized that, that children could also be affected by this AIDS through their parents - if they

were HIV positive, most probably their children would also be. I realized that this thing does not only affect gays... but," he stopped, and then changed his course out of pure, innocent curiosity.

"What is the possibility that someone like myself would be affected?"

Scully's lips suddenly turned upward, curling into a delicious smile. Mulder reacted with one himself, missing everything about their arguments: the mind- blowing heated conversations, the rapid pitching of one- liners, occasional fights in between, then the encore as a peel of laughter or smiles from one another.

"Hmm... let's see, you don't go out for hookers when you get lonely, do you?"

Mulder mouthed an exaggerated _no._

"You haven't fooled with anyone of any sex in the past few months, have you?"

He smirked and shook his head.

"Blood donations? Transfusions lately in the past five or seven years?"

"You're the only person I know who had a transfusion in the past five or seven years."

She suddenly paled with what he said and Mulder had the panicky urgency to take back what he said. Open mouth insert whole body. Strike one hundred for Mr. Fox William Mulder!

"Christ, I'm sorry, Scully - the Saint Cecilia hospital is a respectable medicine facility. And they test blood donors nowadays for the virus …"

Her blue eyes were wide and bright as she tried hard to pinch some color into her cheeks. Mulder stared at her in guilt. She was already pale enough to defunct paper; he couldn't imagine how she could've gone paler without destroying her melanin.

Fantastic. Mr. Fox William Mulder could sure fix everything.

Finally getting some color back to her cheeks, Scully breathed in deeply, "What do you need from me, Mulder?"

Damn it! He blew it!

"I..." He remembered the invitation (thank you, Emily) and searched his front pockets for the envelope. Finding it, he left the bed to give it to her.

"Emily wants you to come to the wedding. It will mean a lot to her."

Scully opened her palm and Mulder gently rested the invitation on it. She held it with two hands and studied her name on the beige paper.

She wasn't going to say anything soon, so Mulder had the initiative to keep the conversation

going. "I don't expect you to come, even if it would mean the world to my daughter ... but ..."

He was halted abruptly when fine spots of red began to appear on the invitation.

"Scully?" he said, and she at once snapped her head up, her eyes up at the ceiling.

A drop of blood trickled down from her nose, resting on her lip. She pinched the bridge of her nose vehemently, trying to contain the nose bleed before it got worse. Mulder took some tissue near him, handed her some, and began to wipe the blood off her face. He tentatively removed the invitation from her hand and settled it on the table near them. For some unknown reason, she was pushing herself further away from him as he cleaned her up, frightening Mulder with the idea that she might fall backwards, so he grabbed her by the waist and effectively pinned her to him.

Feeling this contact, Scully bowed her head down to inspect it - only to bring more drops of blood on her blouse and some on his shirt. He tipped her chin to bring her head back up.

"Relax, relax," he murmured, wiping away the fresh droplets of blood on her shirt and on his, too. Scully slackened against his form, breathing steadily as they both waited for the nose bleed to stop.

She tipped her head back down, an indication that it had stopped. Mulder released her reluctantly, wishing that he could do more to help her. But of course, she wouldn't let him.

"I'm sort of getting used to it, the blood and everything about it." She checked on her blood-splattered shirt and on his, mumbling a small "sorry." Mulder waved as a gesture that it was okay. It was more than okay to have her blood all over him - Jesus, she could have her whole lunch on his shirt and he wouldn't mind because it will give him more excuses to take care of her.

"I'll see," she said, out of subject. Mulder tilted his head to his left, not really sure what she was talking about. "The wedding. I'll see," she cleared.

Mulder was able to nod. "I hope you would come. I know you don't want to go because I'd be there -" Scully opened her mouth to protest, but he held a finger up to shut her up. "- And living every day with me is bad enough, but please come for Emily. She truly adores you."

Her eyes skittered to the invitation and back to him.

"I won't even talk to you during the ceremony or reception, if that's what you are worried about. Just, please come."

She wouldn't answer him; strangely, it made him feel better that she _did_ refuse to answer him. So, he didn't wait for one. Mulder reached beside her for the empty glass of water and exited her bedroom, closing the door softly behind him.

* * *

Dinner that evening flew by without much words, other than "please pass the ketchup" or "hand me that pitcher, please." He was hearing too much politeness for the whole day that he was about to burst like a fucking balloon. Scully kept avoiding his eyes – or his whole form, for that matter. She kept her eyes on her plate of fascinating string beans and medium rare burger patties, as if he was an invisible man. He felt invisible himself with the way she had been treating him, too.

Scully politely asked Jenny if she could wash the dishes for that evening and the maid reluctantly relented to her offer after much coaxing from the auburn lady. Mulder knew that she was only offering to do the chore to avoid his presence outside of the dining room. Emily was still out with her prince charming, which meant that no one would be there to break the tension between them this time around.

Quietly, Mulder crept up behind Scully with a lumpy towel in one hand, ready to help out with the dishes. He positioned himself beside Scully, accepting the wet pieces of porcelain that she was handing him. She didn't even question his presence and he understood that she didn't want to talk about this new arrangement he was testing out with her.

That was about the time when Jenny grimaced at the two and headed to her own quarters, frustrated. _Crazy people,_ she must've been thinking, _hiring helpers and doing the job themselves_.

He cleared his throat before he spoke, "I'm sorry about what I said ... about the blood transfusions this afternoon."

She swallowed hard, submerging a plate within the lukewarm dishwater. "S'okay, Mulder. I wasn't offended."

Yeah, right. He'd gladly believe that if she didn't turn ten shades paler when he mentioned that damn statement. "No, really, I didn't mean to imply that you -"

"Mulder, please, it's okay. I'm fine. I was just taken aback, I guess."

Taken aback? More like shocked to death. "Scully... I know I'm not making our situation any better ... at least," she handed him the forks and spoons, which he took without hesitation. He gazed at her pouting red lips, hoping that she would at least look at him so that he could read whatever was going on in her mind, "let me try to make it better. We are eventually going to be spending a whole year together. If this is the way we would be treating each other for the rest of the time duration, then maybe I should ..." he trailed off. He didn't want to go on and present that thought out in the world.

She squeezed the lemon-scented dish soap onto the sponge she was holding, in turn squeezing it in her hand to make bubbles - or to release tension. "I told you I'm fine. Please, can't you just -" Another squeeze on the sponge. Tighter, this time. "Quit? Is quitting so hard for you to do?"

He should be offended since had often denied that being a lousy quitter was his middle name, but he was already told thousands of times about how hard he pushed through that it didn't matter to him anymore.

"Yes, it is, especially when the other end is making it very challenging for me." That was the truth. Mulder honestly didn't understand why the hell Scully was giving him the hardest time over a small - well, not really small - matter. He wished that there was some way for him to pull her strings effectively so that she could utter the answers he longed for out.

Scully ran the sponge over a plate, stopping every once in a while to contemplate what he said. "I need some time to think. To clear my head. I told you before that it doesn't change anything, I am still -"

"Yes, you are still mine. Yes, it supposedly doesn't change anything - but Scully, the only thing happening to us IS change. Do you understand that?"

She turned off the faucet with a tight grip, pushing over to him the last of the dishes. He cradled the plates with his two hands, wishing once again that she would at least look at him. At least, JUST look at him so he could see what was bothering her.

Scully sighed heavily, redirecting her head to the opposite direction.

"Yes, I do. I understand the situation clear as day. What I don't understand is why you had to do it. Why you had to..." Another deep breath. "I'm sorry," she was able to insert, before completely turning her back to him and heading towards her room.

Her door closed with a loud bang. Mulder had to hold onto the dishes tightly or else he would've lost his grip on them when she took that first step away from him.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

* * *

**Spunk Update:** Since a student of mine "stalked" my old fanfics and the other archives of this story, I discovered that I only posted up until _Chapter Ten_ of Spunk BOOK II online. In my file, I have up until Chapter Thirteen and a bit of the Epilogue. We're almost done with BOOK I so I'm very excited to share these unpublished pages (at least sixty of them) with you … before I start writing the next few parts. The outline's done – I just need the rest of the summer to sit it out and write it down once and for all!

And thank you for all the feedback so far. Yes, you bet your guns that I'm going to finally finish this story!


	17. Chapter Fourteen: Quonochontaug

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN:**

* * *

Quonochontaug, Rhode Island  
May 22, 1986  
Wednesday

_"... God worked throughout the night, giving the father few words, but a firm, authoritative voice; eyes that saw everything, but remained calm and tolerant. Finally, almost as an afterthought, He added tears. Then He turned to the Angel and said, "Now are you satisfied that he can love as much as a mother?"'_

\- An excerpt from "When God Created Fathers" by Erma Bombeck

Mr. William Mulder bought the summer house way back in 1943 as a wedding present to his wife, Teena. It was where they got married and where they spent their honeymoon – an event that continued the whole summer of that same year. They spent time together planting flowers and tress inside the whole expanse of the garden to liven up the already-beautiful place.

When Mrs. Mulder was pregnant with their first child, she spent the whole nine months in Rhode Island, gardening and spending time with the rapidly blooming flowers. Mr. Mulder, who was then a president of a generic food company, traveled back and forth between Massachusetts, Washington DC, and Rhode Island. They spent their evenings basked in the moonlight, laughing and just being with each other, enjoying their time alone.

It was also where Fox William Mulder was born.

Teena wrestled with her son's bowtie, shaking her head at the way Mulder fixed it himself. He was able to casually wrap the two loose ends together in an another loose knot when his mother entered his old bedroom, appalled at the mess he had done on himself.

"Goodness, Fox, you should get bowtie-tying lessons from your friend, John. He seems quite good at it," she remarked, tightening the confining bow around his neck. Mulder groaned.

"Monica tied that for him."

A _harrumph_ escaped her, and with one last tug, she finished. Mulder smiled appreciatively, turning around to look at his reflection on the full-length mirror.

It was like staring at a nervous stranger. His hazel eyes were wide and twitching, lips drier than usual, hands shaking. If it wasn't for the slick hair that was pasted on his head, he would've appeared like the 'asshole father of the bride.'

Shit. Was he _that_ old already?

"You look handsome, Fox." Naturally, mothers would never tell their own sons otherwise.

Mulder watched Teena in the mirror as she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, patting him carefully. "I wish your father was here. He would've been very proud of Emily. And of you. You raised a wonderful and beautiful young woman," she added, with a quirk, "For a teenager, that is, you did an impressive job."

"Mom," Mulder warned, though his eyes betrayed his humor.

Teena grinned, fine laugh lines sprouting at the edges of her eyes. "I always hoped that you would get married here, like your father and I did. I-I suppose having my granddaughter married here is enough. Bill would've been happy nonetheless." Her smile saddened, drawing herself closer to Mulder until they were splitting the mirror between them. "When you didn't get married here, I was hoping that at least Samantha -"

He tilted his head so that his face now missed the mirror, so that his mother wouldn't see his reaction. The subject of Samantha was the least favorite for the whole Mulder clan - she was the

only woman in their whole history who didn't finish go to university, didn't settle down appropriately, and didn't hang around when there were family gatherings.

Needless to say, she probably wouldn't be around to join the party today.

"I'm sorry, Fox," Teena said, straightening out her glasses. She gazed upward at Mulder, craning her neck to reach the top of his blow-dried and gel-splattered hair. "Do you have any word about your sister?"

His mother had forgiven his sister a long time ago, despite the dysfunction she brought to their family and the death of their father, but Mulder still held a rock against his very own sister. His father was his best friend, his mentor; he stared up at his Bill Mulder with the belief that he could save the whole world with just one wave of his hand. When his father suggested that he take psychology, he didn't second guess it. When his father told him to take up French in college, the next thing he knew he was already lining up for a class with Mr. Dmeter.

No one should ever question what he felt for his sister, ever.

"No, Mom. The last time I heard anything about her was three years ago. She was headed to Hawaii back then, remember?"

Teena managed a nod, her eyelids dropping heavily at her disappointment. "Then how could you have sent the invitation?"

Good question. Mulder squinted one eye, knowing that it was time to say the awful truth. His Mom was not going to like it.

"I didn't," he simply said, hoping against hope that there wouldn't be any follow up questions.

"What do you mean you didn't, Fox?" A livid stroke came upon Teena's voice. Mulder ignored it, setting himself up for another argument. On his own daughter's wedding day. Way to go, Mulder.

"I didn't want Emily to be disappointed, Mom, so I pretended that I mailed the invitation to Hawaii, because that's where Samantha supposedly is. I didn't send it. I know it would never reach Samantha, either way."

He expected his Mother to start giving him the worst scolding of the year, but instead, she rolled her eyes in disappointment.

That was an improvement, a very big improvement.

"Oh Fox. What do you have up your sleeve?"

He cringed.

Mothers knew best. Fathers did too ... somehow.

Here it comes:

"A bouquet of white roses from _Aunt Samantha_ in Hawaii."

Teena grimaced, buttoning a jasmine on Mulder's lapel. He in turn also grimaced at it - but ignoring his preferences, she patted it in place. She also patted his cheek for an honest good luck. "You expect her to believe that, Fox? Emily is a smart woman. She takes after you."

She added as an afterthought: "And she's also twenty-one years old. She's big enough to see through your tricks."

"Yeah, but a father can only hope, right?"

His mother smirked and pushed him down to her so she could kiss his forehead.

* * *

Mulder had the strange teenage notion that when Emily was born, she was born into his arms: handed down from wherever babies came from without any barriers, without the natural conception, and without a woman. He was the first parent who had the chance to hold Emily in his arms. He was the parent who named her, and she became the name he bestowed, she became this "Emily" - that was all from him. Greedily, he acknowledged that it was all from him.

During the first few weeks after Emily's birth, Diana was too pained to even hold her daughter. Every time Mulder would good-naturedly offer the small baby to his wife, she would wail out incoherent phrases until the nurses would rush to her room.

Mulder gave Emily her first diaper change, her first bath, her first bottle feeding, her first kiss. Mulder gave her his life.

It was somewhat ironic that he was the one to walk her down the aisle on her wedding day. He was the father of the bride and yes, that was his unsung duty of course. Still, as Mulder first saw Emily in her wedding dress, he found it ironic.

She smiled warmly for him, the water within her eyes shining dangerously, threatening to fall. Emily was of white laces and crystal diamonds. Her veil, attached to her hair bun, scraped lightly on the ground with its intricate embroidery. The wedding dress itself was simple, sleeveless, and was outlined with miniature crystals that sparkled when the sunlight strike their translucent surfaces; however, the way the material bounced off her tanned skin was nonetheless breathtaking.

Mulder was completely choked up when he came to fetch Emily from the inside of the house. It was a garden wedding; they would have to walk towards the backyard, bursting from the front door for dramatic purposes.

Everyone was settling outside. They were the only ones left inside the house, save for the other people included in the opening repertoire. As he stepped into her dressing room (or the former master's bedroom), the eerie silence was enough to stiffen up his tears.

God. And it was only like yesterday that she was wearing those bouncy pigtails.

"How do I look?" She twirled around for him, also swirling untamed dust particles in her wake. Mulder resisted the urge to bawl in front of his daughter. He had never, honestly, seen her more beautiful. Of all the days she had to be this radiant - why did it have to be today?

"You look wonderful, honey. Magnificent," he coughed out.

Emily ran her tongue atop her lip. "Thanks."

Watching her reflection on the room's full-length mirror (Mulder had once called his parents "vanity- freaks" out of good ribbing due to their mirror fetish) for one last time, she cranked an elbow towards Mulder. He robotically slid his arm into place, and they began to walk down the stairs together, with him occasionally guiding Emily's long veil so that she or he would not step on it.

They were now in place behind the whole line of the repertoire. Mulder still hadn't squeaked more or less some encouraging parting words for his daughter.

Emily peered at him through her thick veil. "Daddy?" she timidly called out, her voice somehow reminiscent of its pitch when she was eight years old.

"Yes, honey?" he said, a little bit too quickly.

She let her mouth hang open first before speaking: "You are still my best friend. Nothing will change that even after this."

The tears that he had been restraining for so long finally broke free from Mulder's eyes. They trekked down his cheekbones, onto his slick black tux. Emily broke from his elbow clutch and hugged him, wrapping her arms around his shoulder blades tightly, as if she would never let go.

_As if she would never let go._

"Christ, Emily ... I will miss you so much. So damn ... much," he stuttered, burying his face into her shoulder, controlling the tears despite himself so that it wouldn't ruin her wedding dress.

She didn't seem to mind as she hugged him tighter. "I will miss you too, Daddy, but we'll still see each other every week. I promise you that. You will always be my best friend. We would always be that two peas in a pod they always say we are. I will always be that little girl of yours." Her voice was cracking; she was also about to cry. Not a good idea, since she hadn't even exited the house and her make-up will already be ruined.

Mulder reluctantly drew apart, lingering his hand on her waist. "I know that, honey. I know that." Through the veil, he kissed her on her forehead, and then on the tip of her nose. "I love you, Emily. You know _that_, don't you?"

A single drop of tear managed to break free from Emily's eye, and she wiped it with her bare hand. "Yes, Dad. I love you, too."

Regaining much needed composure, they went back to their original position and was finally ready to head towards the garden.

At last, the live band cranked the immortal tunes of "Here Comes the Bride." Mulder smiled at Emily and they began to walk slowly, in time with the beat.

The front door opened imperceptibly, welcoming the first line of flower girls into the morning sunlight, into the colorful garden. All heads turned towards the entering cohort, eyes gleaming of excitement.

A certain flash of red caught Mulder's eyes as they were nearing the front door. Before he could even decipher whether it was who he was expecting it to be, Emily cut him off with a hint of amusement in her voice.

"She's here, Dad. Dana came."

Mulder hummed contentedly, taking a small step together with her.

"Oh, and Dad?"

The entrance was only a few meters from them. He could now fully see Scully, sitting at the rows of benches. He guessed at once that she came in at the last possible minute, after spending the whole day contemplating on the invitation. He was forced to leave her in Los Angeles when Scully was hedging the confirmation of her attendance.

"Yes, Em?" Mulder remembered to answer, stiffening his stomach as the first rays of the sun hit his forehead.

"Thanks for the white roses."

He managed a grimace before he needed to smile for the wedding guests.

* * *

John Doggett cranked a glass of white wine from Mulder, prying his fingers one by one. If the man didn't know any better, he'd say that Mulder's hands were suction cups.

"Heel, Mulder. Heel."

Mulder's wine fetish resurfaced when his emotions did. They were best of friends.

He didn't give a damn about what John was ordering him. His eyes were locked on Diana and her "new friend" as they were swirling on the makeshift dance floor of the living room, bouncing their assess off to Huey Lewis &amp; The News's "The Power of Love." Her "new friend" was bald, tanned, had well-toned triceps and biceps, had those six-pack abdomen that were pretty visible from the thin white shirt the man had on. He didn't even bother to wear a tux - he had to wear those thin white shirts to show the world how his VIP card in the gym paid off. His name would probably rhyme with "Fabio." The nerve of Diana to bring him to their daughter's wedding when she had been ignoring Emily's phone calls the past few weeks. Suddenly, she appeared with this Fabio in tow. That woman was some piece of work, Mulder deduced with a belch and he tasted the wine in his breath. He was feeling very opinionated about this matter right now.

"Where do you think she found the time to get him?" he asked, not looking at his companion. John had successfully isolated the glass far away from Mulder, and he was sighing dejectedly at his friend.

He was twisting the glass close to his face, watching the fine white wine swirl on around the goblet. "Work, maybe?"

"Diana doesn't work. She didn't even work for this wedding day." The world will shift and the Great Depression will have to repeat itself, but the damn woman will never touch anything with the scent of labor.

John grumbled few recognizable expletives in Spanish (the only thing Mulder understood was _mierda)_, ultimately allowing himself to coddle a well-deserved swig of Mulder's own wine. It was going to be a long, long day.

The reception was designed cordially only for the kindred or close family friends. However, when Diana sauntered into the ballroom with her "new friend" without even a second-glance at her daughter or at Mulder himself, the world suddenly turned into a spit ball. It annoyed him greatly that she had the guts to show up with her "new friend" when indeed this was her daughter's wedding _and_ she had missed most of her appointments with them for the planning process. The invitation didn't say that you could bring JUST anyone along.

Oh, hey, hi, "Fabio," could we stop messing around for a while because I need to be somewhere right now? Oh yeah, it's nothing – just my daughter's wedding day. Want to have fun with me?

But from the obvious vantage point, John didn't think that Mulder was irritated by that fact. He was thinking more on the "green- eyed" monster lines. _Celoso asno. _

"What the hell are you doing eyeing them like you are doing, Mulder?" The wine had the desired effect on his friend. John's words slightly tilted to one punctuation as he spoke; it ad been a long time since he indulged himself to a one-shot liquor trip.

Mulder twitched at his question. No doubt about it, John was thinking the _celoso asno_ trick: the jealous ass trick, that was. That was not even close to the truth of his insecurity.

Diana was a beautiful woman. She had light creamy skin and Emily's brunette hair, her face the contour of exquisiteness - nose pointed and eyebrows light. Her figure wasn't something to laugh at too - she used to attend aerobics class every week when they were married.

When it came to attitude, though, it was a totally different story.

His ex-wife could be a bitch, period.

Every woman in the world could somehow be classified into a level of bitchiness, but Diana would be every level and all scores a bitch. She was a kind bitch, a bad bitch, a whore of a bitch, a grateful bitch ... the list of adjectives would go and on, each ending with the word "bitch."

His real problem, aside from Diana's bitchy audacity, was his insecurity of having _noone_ when his ex- wife (yes, queen of the reigning bitches) had someone. It was normal, as psychology told him years ago, to have your ego knack you for things like these. It wasn't normal, as Mulder had defined it, to have his ego invite his insecurity in. They must be best of friends too.

Mulder squirmed in his seat, raising one leg and placing it atop his knee. That explanation, when said out loud, would never make sense. It barely made sense in his mind.

Opting for something less idiosyncratic, he answered his friend. "Diana had the guts to bring that man in her own daughter's wedding when she barely lifted a finger to help us plan it." State the obvious.

John called for a waiter to pour more wine onto the wine glass he was holding. The bulky Mexican waiter did so, and Doggett thanked the man in Spanish. The waiter brightened up, preparing himself to converse in smooth Spanish when the opposite table called his services. That was where Monica (painfully two weeks away from popping out) and Scully were seated, talking and enjoying the music at the same time.

"Why don't you dance, Mulder? It'll get rid of your tension," Doggett recommended dutifully.

"I've danced with Emily." He anchored a hand on his ankle. Mulder was indicating that she was the only person he would allow himself to dance with tonight. Frohike, Byers, or Langley were all OUT of the question.

"Why don't you take Dana?" John's eyebrow shot an imperceptible arrow towards the young woman sitting next to Monica. They were conversing in low voices - in Welsh, most probably. Monica would glance towards them occasionally, as if waiting for Mulder to approach the table and grab Scully. If this suggestion of John's was premeditated, he would kill the man later.

Right now, Mulder thought that he must fall for the premeditation.

He could include Dana Scully in his to-dance-with list.

Shrugging and nonchalant at best, Mulder rose from the table and began to trek towards Scully. Monica gave his presence away with her widened eyes, and the auburn woman congealed in her seat. That awkward move didn't stop Mulder from placing a hand on her shoulder and pressing his palm softly on her bare skin. That was his way of announcing his presence.

Scully snapped her head up to look at him, whispering a single word:

"_Cacha."_

The tone of her voice and the range of it told Mulder that she didn't want him to hear it. That was an expletive in Welsh.

"Dance?" He had gathered enough courage to move the rock of Gibraltar by that moment, thanks to the white wine and his tipsy ego (white wine combined with water, that was. If he drank ONLY white wine, he wouldn't want to know what would happen after their dance).

Scully warily gave him _and_ Monica the eye. She stood up, though, having no other choice but to accept the father-of-the-bride's proposal. Smoothing her satin green strapless gown, she accepted his hand and they walked casually towards the crowded dance floor.

Keeping reasonable distance from her as they emerged face-to-face, Dana formally anchored her hands over his lapel, while he held her small waist, unintentionally feeling the soft skin of her back. Her gown was backless; did he mention that? It dipped to her lower back, lifting up to form a heart on her chest. Her toned legs peeked through its high slit, peeking from the gown's casing and making most of the young men present drool when they saw her.

She also didn't curl her hair. She let it dry naturally, forming soft straight edges on her shoulders and framing her face, making her seem more mature.

Oh, and did he mention that, next to Emily, she would be the most beautiful woman in the wedding?

Their eyes locked as the music changed to Whitney Houston's "Saving All My Love for You." He calmly studied the interweaving blues in her iris, hoping that his own eyes wouldn't give away his admiration for her.

Christ, her husband would be very lucky indeed.

Trying to break the tension, Mulder bolted his good senses out of his mouth and joked, "I'm not going to kiss you this time if you're worried about that." He was ready for the overkill, really.

But it maybe sometimes beneficial to keep his good senses away, because Scully smiled at his jive. She even relaxed a bit, her fingers falling on his chest with her right hand atop his beating heart.

Mulder couldn't help sighing deeply, watching her hand go up and down his chest in time with his breath.

It felt normal; it felt like the old days before _he_ screwed up.

"Congratulations, by the way, Mulder," she said, her voice lowering along with the sharpness of her accent. Mulder smoothened the porcelain skin of her lower back with his thumb, and he felt her shiver slightly. She didn't pull back, even with that bold move of his. Wine was making him do crazy things again. He had to keep himself intact.

"For what?"

"For earning a son." Scully's smile widened to a grin.

"And for losing a daughter?" he added unintentionally.

That was not helping himself. Or her, for that matter. Fuck the wine.

Scully lowered her away eyes from his face, sympathetic at his suggestion. Seeing this, Mulder didn't want her sympathy. He didn't want any sympathy, especially when it was coming from her.

"No, I didn't mean it that way," he hoarsely took back, also looking down to study their shoes that were lightly brushing against each other. Mulder was trying hard to keep his emotions at bay.

"It's okay, Mulder. I understand. You will miss her very much."

That statement from her awakened something deep inside Mulder, a volcano bubbling out from nowhere, ready to spurt boiling magma.

How could she possibly understand what he was feeling?

How could she possibly understand the isolation and pain?

He was angry that his ex- wife's having a ball of a life; he's demented that his own daughter's leaving him; he's appalled that Scully was here and she was dancing with him inspite of what he had done to her. He was angry at the world for making him feel lonely when he's not. He was angry. That was it: concluded and period dotted on the end of the sentence more than a hundred times.

He was a complicated man - an equation straight out of Algebra and Chemistry books. She could never, ever understand him. Fuck the wine again!

Scully chose that particular moment to lift her head up and she tried to catch his eyes. He didn't budge, gaze still lingering on their shoes. His hands on her back transferred down to her waist, his newfound awkwardness surfacing.

"I _do_ understand. If you don't believe me, at least look at -" A yelp came from her throat, cutting her statement. Scully was pushed into his arms, and he wrapped them around her protectively, raising his neck above her head to see what made her move into him.

Behind her stood Diana and Mr. New Friend, both mouthing a 'sorry.' However, they were studying the situation in mock bewildered expressions, being caught up in their own versions of dirty foxtrot that they forgot there was a planet revolving under their footsteps.

Bitchy Diana here.

Mulder stroked Scully's bare back and she tilted her head away from his chest to investigate whoever tripped her. _Amer chienne._ The _bile bitch_ tripped you, Dana Scully.

_French,_ this time.

"Oh Christ, we're so sorry, Fox." Diana raised a hand before his face, waving her fingers sweetly. Mulder nodded, watching "new friend" launch into the same mode.

Scully gathered herself from his chest, coming to stand beside him. Mulder remembered that his Spunk hadn't met his ex-wife yet, so he took the opportunity to be a nice host and introduce the two. Not forgetting "new friend," of course.

Motioning to his ex-wife, he turned to Scully, "This is Diana and..." He snapped his fingers for a name, and Diana snapped it back at him.

"Bob."

Too bad it didn't rhyme with "Fabio."

"... And Bob. Diana, Bob, this is Dana Scully. She's the lead in my upcoming movie."

They all shook hands, exchanging a few strained compliments, and that was all Mulder let them do.

That was also all he could take, looking at Diana and her "Bob/Fabio," Spunk and her statement, and the magma boiling in the pit of his belly.

He held Scully by the elbow and drew her away from the dance floor, away from Diana and "Bob," who were following their actions with curious gazes. It was as if something in him snapped. Which was the inebriated truth.

Scully tried to shake her thin arms free from him, jiggling it as they exited the living room. "Mulder, what are you doing? Let me go!" she demanded, her pitch rising to dangerous dimensions.

The garden was still littered with white chairs and the day's flowers. Mulder intentionally stepped on a spilled bouquet of red roses, dragging Spunk to wherever he was planning to take her.

With one final yank, Scully was able to bring Mulder to a stop.

"What are you doing? Why are you acting like this?" Her voice was enraged, and he heard a hint of panic. Mulder knitted his eyebrows tightly on his forehead.

"There! Now look at me! What do you see? Huh? Could you see everything and predict the next World War? Could you see what I am feeling?" He violently shoved his face close to hers. Scully recoiled slightly, but held her stance and kept their gazes, their noses scraping against each other.

Up close, she sniffed the alcohol in his breath and drew an immediate conclusion. "You're drunk again, Mulder. You're going bonkers. You should rest, get a bath and sleep …"

"NO! Tell me what you see, what you read, Scully! Isn't that what you're good at? Isn't that what you do when you want to argue with me? Isn't that what you do best?" He was shouting, but it didn't matter. The music inside was too loud for anyone to hear them and the garden was isolated. He didn't care.

He didn't want to care.

Scully gritted her teeth, accepting his challenge. "FINE! So I will read you! You know what I read? I read a man who's forcing himself to the brink of destruction when all around him are real friends who care for him! I see a drunk man who wastes his life on alcohol when problems arise! I see a man who wants loneliness when that is not what is bloody intended for him! I see a man who just cannot quit! And you are NOT quitting right now!"

Mulder bit his tongue in his mouth and then, there was silence.

When he told her to read him, he didn't say that she should open a new chapter.

Scully blinked back tears (he didn't want to think about that) as she began to talk again, this time in a hush, "Mulder, please ... quit." It was more of a plea than a command. "I don't want to say anymore. I don't want to do this."

She didn't want to argue with him. Not today.

Surprise, surprise.

He was still silent as he lifted his head up to the sky, to see the mad prisms the setting sun was weaving.

Scully did the same, trying to find whatever fascinating thing Mulder was looking at.

* * *

"I should be happy."

That was his conclusion over his breakdown – for his final act of stupidity in front of the person he would be utterly humiliated to act stupid in front of.

Now, the person he was referring to was sitting with him on the fresh ripe green grass, not giving a fuck about the fine gown she was wearing, taking a swig of beer as the stars began to appear and the full moon danced its opening act.

Mulder, his bowtie now loosened and his tux jacket used as a makeshift blanket, pointed the beer towards a very prominent star: the Northern Star.

"I should be happy today because my daughter is getting married." The star heaved a sparkle in disagreement. Of course, it wasn't true, so he rephrased it. "I should be happy today because she is married and she's moving on ... but I'm not."

Scully modified her position on his tux to make herself more comfortable. The gown didn't help make matters easier for her, but she kept her peace. "Why aren't you happy?"

Mulder discerned that Scully more than knew the answer to that - and she could recite the whole detail to him without intermissions, but somehow, tonight was for him. Tonight was for him to find clarity, to explain, to tell him what he truly felt.

"Do you sometimes ... feel that everyone is moving on except you? That the world is taking a new step everyday and here you are, still moving backward?"

She took a drink first, relishing the taste of beer on her red lips.

"Yes. You are moving but you take three steps forward and five backward."

Mulder nodded. "It shouldn't have come to me today. I had the whole month to think of it of the consequences Emily's marriage would have. I had a long time to think of the probably loneliness I was about to face. But I didn't. I didn't have the time to do so, or maybe I just didn't want to think about it." He took another gulp of beer. "Scully, I'm really sorry for what happened back in Vegas. I really am."

"I've accepted your apology a long time ago, Mulder."

"Then why are you treating me this way?"

Silence.

Scully lifted her legs from the ground and pressed them to her chest. This position always reminded Mulder of how little she was, of how vulnerable she could be. This was how she sat in the hospital, when she awakened from her nightmares, when she was afraid. He never wanted her this way, and he hoped she would drop her legs and stop positioning herself like that.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Scully hugged her legs with her arms. "I overreacted back in the bar - it was the wine. And why I kept treating you like this because … I guess I've never just thought of you that way. Romantically, that is." She ended this with her chin on her two knees, gazing up above at the insistent Northern Star.

"I never thought of you that way, either," he admitted, and it was true. He cared for the woman because she needed his care - because she needed him. In some ways, yes, he had needed her too. Scully was a beautiful lady, and he would be insane if he wouldn't admit his physical attraction to her - but that was how far it would ever go. He could never think of Scully that way, as a lover. Never.

It was a complicated relationship: wherein he couldn't define their purpose to each other and they didn't hold titles beyond the silver screen. It was easy with Emily: father, daughter. Easy with Diana, too: ex-husband, ex-wife. Even with John: best friend, best party animal.

With Scully, he couldn't say if she was his friend, best friend, or his new deity. How could he tell?

Mulder finished his beer off, gently placing it in between his toes to play with the smooth glass. "My Mom told me that when she gave birth here, she barely reciprocated the pain because the birds were humming in her ear and she could smell the flowers she planted surrounding her. She said that her infatuation with this place was born along with me.

"Even if it is against my better will that this place be under my name, my Dad surged forward with the idea. He told me that this is where my life started, and I should own that piece of my life."

"What about your sister?"

The question, in any other day, would be dismissed with a mock or a grumble, but Mulder was so relaxed that he didn't even mind her asking him about Samantha.

"Samantha was too far gone to be even remembered when the land was transferred to my name. My parents were still angry with her back then."

Scully shivered as a light breeze passed through them. Mulder placed a light hand on her bare back.

"Cold?"

A nod answered his question.

Mulder went straight up on his feet, helping Scully up on hers too. His soiled tux rested on his arm and they kicked the empty bottles of beer on the grass. They were about to leave the garden when Scully pulled back and ran towards the empty bottles, bringing them with her as they walked towards the summer house.

The guests had left for their hotel accommodations - even his mother - and it was by his request that he be left at the summer house. The extra helpers were already polishing off the whole place, leaving it spick and span for him to be able to sleep steadily tonight. He wanted tonight as a rare time for him to relax and just be himself.

Instinctively, his hand draped itself on Scully's thin shoulders as if they had a life of their own. He pulled her closer, and for what seemed like the first time in months, she didn't hesitate.

That made an ounce of unnamed emotion lift from Mulder's heart.

They were nearing the front porch when he brought up a question he never thought he would ask for the night:

"Will you stay?"

Scully worried her free finger over her lips. "My clothes are all in the hotel, Mulder."

"I have excess jeans and t-shirts. A belt will hold up pretty well."

She laughed at the absurdity of his idea. "Do the words _underwear _occur to you, Mr. Superman?"

That was the least of his worries for tonight. He didn't care if she was in underwear or without, he didn't care if she'd raid his whole wardrobe and he'd have to sleep naked.

It'll be too crass to answer _no,_ so he opted for something else.

"Stay?" He was begging now, pleading with his puppy dog eyes at her. Scully immediately softened when she saw his face.

"Okay," she said, and that made another sack of emotion rise up from deep inside of him.

* * *

Scully opted for something reasonably baggy: his Yankees shirt and denim jeans. He was right after all. The belt did hold it up pretty well, even if the rest of his jeans bunched up on her ankles like mud puddles.

She was folding her gown in a neat square (she must have spent the last 30 minutes doing it over and over again) when he entered the master's bedroom with _real _blankets in one hand and a picnic basket in the other. Her back was to him, so she didn't see what he was holding yet.

"Where would I be sleeping tonight?" As the last fold came, she thrust the long sleeves of his shirt up on her shoulder.

Mulder leaned his body on the doorframe. "With me," he said innocently.

Scully chuckled appreciatively, thinking that his statement was a joke. "Real bed, Mulder. Real nice be -" She was cut off when she swirled around and discovered what he was holding. The chuckle in her voice was now a smirk of disapproval.

"What is that?"

"You could be helpful and bring the pillows."

Her hand found her forehead and massaged it to ease some of the confusion away. "What is this? Camping out?"

"Yeah."

The hand rested on her hip, her expression becoming vaguely amused.

"Where are the pillows?"

* * *

"Look at the stars," Scully breathed at him, rubbing her slightly bulging stomach. The ham sandwich he concocted while she was taking a shower was heavy on mayonnaise. She ate three of them - and almost gobbled up half of his share. He let her, since she was working on a dancer's appetite and a twenty-year-old metabolism. He, on the other hand, had to carefully watch what he ate unless he wanted a pouch before they fall asleep.

He did as she said, propping his head up on his two hands. The sky was one gigantic sea of jewels. "What's to look at?" he wanted to know, squinting his eyes at the billions of stars that were glinting at them.

"'The moon is my friend, and the stars are our audience as we share a passion for the darkness ...'" she recited in dull monologue, her eyes scanning the sea of sparkling diamonds. "_A ni dawns oblegid dyna neb yfory ... cyfan hynny mater ef ni heno_.'"

"What could that possibly mean?" Mulder rolled over to his side, anchoring his head on his hand so that he could look at her. Scully didn't shunt, still seemingly attracted to the midnight sky.

"And we dance because there is no more tomorrow ... all that matters is us tonight," she sighed, also turning to look at him. Seeing that she was still a few inches from his face, she perked herself up with the pillow under her. Now they were eye-to-eye: one of their best and favorite positions together.

"I didn't know you wrote sonnets in your spare time," he teased, earning a glare from her.

"That, for your information, Mister, is a Welsh classic poem by Ray Dist. It's called "The Moon, My Friend." I recited it once for English class back in junior high." She grinned at thememory, that lilies and carnations grin. Mulder warmed at the sight of it. She hadn't been showing those whites of hers the past week, and he was just happy that they were real friends once again. Happy that, at least, she was real and she was there for him.

"Why is that poem so special to you?" He smiled back, reaching over to caress her cold cheek, to force some warmth onto her frozen pale skin. Scully allowed herself to lean into his palm; closing her eyes with his touch.

"It soothes me, Mulder. When I feel alone, it soothes me," she said with the softest of her timbres.

He breathed in the crispy air of the evening, eventually retrieving his hand from her cheek and lying down on his side. He opened his arms and invited Scully in, which she took without hesitation. Her head laid down on his biceps, pillowing there comfortably and his free arm rested on her waist, circling her rounded stomach. Pulling her close to him to generate more body heat, he placed his cheek on her ear, his nose under her chin - where he could breathe in her wonderful scent.

"Owe it to the only living forest here in the vicinity of Rhode Island for the cold breeze. It is summer _and_ it's cold," he snickered, gentling a blanket over their forms. They stayed silent for a moment, getting used to the feel of each other's bodies.

Mulder kissed the outline of Scully's jaw, taking another whiff of her amazing scent. He'd love to wake up to her fragrance tomorrow, together with the singing of stray birds and the flowers' perfume.

"Thanks," he said suddenly, surprising her.

"For what?" She rubbed her head against his arm, trying to catch a glimpse of him, but his head was effectively pinning hers in place.

"For being my friend. For keeping me company. For putting up with an asshole like me. For being real."

Scully groped for his hand in the dark, finding it on her stomach. She intertwined her fingers with his, settling it on her hip bone. That was her way of saying that it was all her pleasure.

Mulder obscured his face into the pit that connected her shoulder and neck, "Tell me the rest of your poem, Scully." His lips met that spot below her neck as an advance _thank you_.

Her voice slurred slightly as she began to talk, with a gentler voice:

"I am lonely. Afoot on a cobblestone of chills and blizzards that howl in my ear. The midnight cuckoo clock angrily banishes me from the evening, telling me to silence my emotions – they are too noisy.  
"Solitude is in the night; Mother Earth says that the moon would keep me company. _Fi ewyllys cael ef er y noson a ef ewyllys dangos fi pa mor ar dawns.  
_"The moon is my friend and the stars are our audience as we share a passion for the darkness. _A ni dawns oblegid dyna neb yfory... cyfan hynny mater ef ni heno."_

He fell asleep to the sound of Scully's voice, with his nostrils filling up with the scent of strawberries, cucumber, and baby power.

Someday, he might want to think about this relationship with Scully - why they enjoyed each other's touches, why they needed each other, why and how they could hold onto each other like lovers yet still remain friends …

Someday.

But not tonight.

"We dance because there is no more tomorrow... all that matters is us tonight. And I believe for a second, that tomorrow will never again come. _A fi credu er yail hynny yfory ewyllys byth eto dod_. That tonight is the last chapter in the fingertips of Mother Earth."

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

* * *

**A/N: **I distinctly remember writing this chapter and finding a particular joy within my heart as I was doing so. This is one of my favorite chapters from the whole book. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

By the way, I found one photograph of the Spunk chapters from my old website. This is the one for Chapter Fourteen: open?id=0BywQGY6DFv1ZNGhXVEVuanBjb3c&amp;authuser=0 The concept for this photograph is that we are getting a glimpse of a photo album from the Mulder family. I'm not going to say who wrote the caption under the photo, but you can make an educated guess!

By the way, I have at least eleven unpublished chapters of Spunk BOOK II with me here in my hard drive. BOOK I will be ending soon – there are only five chapters left and I'll be posting faster now since vacation is on its way.

Thank you for your feedback! I'm so happy to see more familiar names rereading this story. This repost is really for the old fans, and now, for the new ones!


	18. Chapter Fifteen

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN:**

* * *

June 3, 1985

Dear Melissa,

Have you ever experienced being stretched to your limits, as if you were a magnet, a south pole, and there were two north poles at your sides? Is it supposed to be this painful

I feel that way right now: one part of me longs so much for Wales and the ocean's scent in the early morning, the lilies pirouetting on the pond's skin of water, and the people that all come up to me randomly to say hi. Yet, the other part of me feels that I am needed here in Los Angeles. I feel as if I belong here – in this chaotic Hollywood world that I did not want anything to do with in the beginning. When I arrived here in Los Angeles five months ago, it was by mistake. There wasn't an available flight to Las Vegas for the next two days and being desperate to leave everything behind, I boarded a flight to Los Angeles.

That mistake, fueled by my then-rash irrationality, seems to be one of the best things that has happened to me. I cannot believe that I am actually here to dance my ass off and have people actually like what I'm doing.

I could see you right now, Missy, as you laugh at what I am writing to you. Funny, isn't it? How we continue making mistakes, yet find opportunities through them?

I do have to admit that I've fallen in love with LA. I have fallen in love with the Hollywood Hills, the never ending traffic, Sunset Boulevard. It's great to be accepted in this foreign soil … to know this land and to be allowed to love it like I've loved my own.

Oh, Melissa, I haven't asked about Nana. How is she? I am missing her terribly. She must be worried sick about me. Please give her my apologies and my love. I know that for most of my life there, I've taken her for granted and now, I am doing it again. You know how it goes: the person you cherish the most is the one you easily take for granted. You do not know how important they are until you lose them.

Sometimes, I feel that way about you and our brothers. I have felt forever that way for Mother.

How is your baby, Missy? Does it look like Mother? If so, then that's another lucky baby born under the genetic reign of Margaret Scully. What can I say? I've always wanted company.

The movie will be released late next year. We're hoping for a London premiere and release if possible. I hope you'll go and see it. So far, it looks promising. I get excited when we practice the grand production numbers.

Give my love to your baby, Charles, Bill, and of course, to Nana.

_Fam wedi rhyddhau 'm , Melissa. Hi 'n ddiau has._

Signed,  
Dana

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER FIFTEEN**


	19. Chapter Sixteen: Warner Brothers Studios

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN:**

* * *

Warner Brothers Studios  
Los Angeles  
June 13, 1985  
Thursday 

The movie's concept was actually pretty simple: freedom through dancing. It was now up to Kimberly Young, the scriptwriter, to get something going based on that simple plot.

So she did.

Its premise started also simply enough: a young woman traveling in a greasy truck with a man named Mr. Darin Dether. Mr. Dether was a professional dancer who just happened upon the lady on the dirt road, and being gentlemanly and all, offered to take the young woman wherever she needed to go. He was on his way to Washington, DC and company was sparse on the road for the long drive ahead. Asking if there was any place that she wanted to be dropped, the woman only said, "I'd go wherever you're heading."

Upon reaching his destination, Mr. Dether had no choice but to drop the lady and leave her there alone on the busy streets of DC.

They would meet again after a month. Dether was fresh out of a successful stint in a famous theater production there in DC. The mysterious happened to be a waitress in the diner he would indulge in from time-to-time. She was new there after flying from one job to another the past few weeks.

Trying to be helpful, he asked her if she knew how to dance. The woman would smile and whisper that she could "try."

This woman, Aida Simile, turned out to be a very talented dancer. Dether eventually offered to enlist her as a part of the dancing studio he belonged in and, of course, there would be extravagant productions that would put both his and Simile's names on the map.

And, of course, she had a mysterious past. They continue working together, until they fall in love with each other. When it came to a heated confrontation in a random hotel room, Aida would back away and tell him that she had to go back home. This hesitation on her part is detrimental to their success: in one week, the biggest production of their dance company would be launched and it starred no other than Darin and Aida. There was no way she could back out of it. However, Aida was adamant and told him that she had to go. She finally would tell him the truth: her daughter was dying of leukemia and the real reason why she was working in the city was to pay for the mounting medical bills back at home.  
Unfortunately, when she got her break in DC, it was too late for any medicine to heal her little angel.

Darin had no choice but to let her go because he learned that she was married and her husband was waiting for he to come back. He had no choice but to watch the woman he loved disappear from his life.  
Eventually, Aida made it to the final performance, but they decided to mutually break it off. She had a life to come home to and that was where she felt she truly belonged.

That _particular_ part was where Mulder protested. He didn't like the ending. No one in their right minds would like THAT ending! It was a mortal cinematic scene to have your two heroes ending up in separate ways!

Mulder had been thinking again and again for a different conclusion to the story for the past few months. Now, Kimberly Young stood before him, quickly reviewing the thick bound of script in her hands. "Why do they have to end up together?" she cried out, exasperated with him. He already had her rewrite the script while he was in Las Vegas to accommodate Dana Scully's British accent. Then, this. "That is so cliché, don't you think?"

Mulder pushed his reading glasses up onto his nose, grimacing at the headstrong writer. "No one wants an unhappy ending, Kimberly. People today want happy stories - check Flash Dance out! Or, or Footloose ... even Back to the Future ends happily." He flipped towards the last page, pointing at the chunky paragraphs. "We're here to make a hit, and not an indie. The script's good enough, Kim. The script's already good enough to break a few Hollywood norms - if that's what you want."

Kimberly swallowed hard, perusing through the final pages herself. "Fine. So I could rewrite this and change the ending. _Again_. How do YOU want it to end?"

"Make Aida and Darin like soulma - wait, no, there are no such things as soul mates." He rested a finger on his chin while racking his brain for something good to pitch. "Kill the husband. I don't know. Get him out of the story. _Deus ex machina_."

"What?!"

"Erase him. He's only a page long, right? Rip that page out and say that he's been long dead. That'll free Aida to be with Darin."

"Then it'll be so easy to predict that they'll end up together."

"Okay, fine. So don't make the husband a husband. Make them a live-in couple. They decide that the _magic's gone_ – of course, it's not supposed to sound like that and it's your job to NOT make it sound like that – and Aida (still grieving her daughter's death) dances in the final production. Darin and Aida end up together and they talk about their pasts and how important they are to each other. There."

Heaving a frustrated grunt, Kimberly stepped away from him – for both their safety, he supposed. If he stayed in her face for another moment, things were going to get nasty.

Kimberly turned her back to him and marched up the large ramp of the studio while furiously writing inside the ring-bound script. In her fury, she didn't see Walter Skinner coming down from the studio and they bumped into each other. Thank God no flying papers came about, and Kimberly picked herself up without any words and began to scribble once more on her script.

Walter glanced at the woman, and then, seeing Mulder, a knowing look came across his face. Using his palm as a shield against the sun, Walter shook his bald head. "You made more revisions, didn't you?"

"No, not me." He removed the reading glasses from his face. They ended up in his breast pocket, together with his other small paraphernalia – a ball pen, small pieces of paper, chewing gum wrappers, and candy. "_Her_. She's the writer."

"I'm sure by now she's wondering who the _real_ scriptwriter of this movie is."

Mulder hopped on a parked studio golf cart, which is an effective way of moving around the whole lot without having to bask under the oppressive afternoon heat. Walter indignantly stepped in with him, and Mulder began to drive off, ignoring as the engines protested his uncommon speed.

"Why are you in a hurry, Mulder?" Skinner held onto the damn thing's sides, watching his head as the roof came dangerously close to his shiny baldness.

He lessened the speed when Walter alarmed him. No need to get the man nervous ... yet. "I have to deliver Scully's lunch," he replied, turning to a blind right. Walter, beside him, ran a hand through his smooth head, as if inspecting if it was damaged.

"Christ, what are you? Her nanny?"

"Her lunch is liver spread sandwich. Where the fuck did you think she'll find something like that around here, huh? McDonalds?" Another sharp left, almost dropping Skinner to the ground, the golf car wiggling in agony as his speed began to increase again.

"It's 11:40, Mulder! For goddamn's sakes, slow down! Dana won't get hungry for a few minutes!"

They jumped over a hump and the roof connected with their heads, making them yelp in surprise and pain. Walter rubbed the reddening patch on his head. "Fuck it, Mulder! Slow down! If you don't I'll-"

The Director began to laugh. There was always something amusing about surprising Skinner. The man was mild-mannered, in control, and the perfect definition of calm. Mulder was out of the blue, crazy, over-the-top ... and because of that, they had an amount of friction that could topple anybody down easily.  
But not them. Mulder and Walter shared a great solid friendship, and the main driving force behind it was the fact that they both didn't know how to quit. Case in point: Mulder and Walter were probably the only producers in Hollywood that were adamant to be as involved as possible in the production stages of a movie they invested in. They both wanted to make sure they were getting their money's worth and that the project was moving soundly along. When Mulder worked with other directors before, it drove them crazy that he was constantly at their necks and breathing in on their decisions. Yet, when it was Mulder's turn to be given a directorial debut, he had no other person in mind to produce his film other than Walter Skinner. He could easily get out of hand and there was no one else he wanted to keep him in line than a nosy producer like Walter. And now, for this project, these things made them a great team.

"Fine."

The car's speed lilted, making Skinner straighten himself up on his seat. Mulder drove in a leisurely pace, occasionally bidding a wave to the Warner Brothers staff he recognized. He had been around for more than ten years and had been a familiar face to almost half of the whole crew in the lot.

A certain studio inside the lot was intended years ago for musical rehearsals - back in the early 1930's - and was now being used as one of the many silver screen sets. Musicals had faltered years ago, but dancing was very popular nowadays, so the big bosses decided to keep the studio specifically for dance rehearsals. That was where Scully was at that moment, rehearsing the humongous "production" numbers for the movie with her co-stars.

Mulder parked his buggy askew beside the lot, reaching behind him to retrieve Scully's lunch.

Skinner bounded out of the car, eyeing it with frightening curiosity while rubbing on his head. Together, they set off to the inside of the loft.

The security recognized Mulder and Skinner at once and he ushered them in with pleasant greetings.

Inside, the gray walls were sparkling with studio lights of different colors. Whenever filming was being done, there were only a few selected bulbs that could be used in a given scene for cinematic purposes, but today, the whole place was lit up for the rehearsals. Mulder could see all the individual cracks on the cemented walls and the aging wooden floors, which were being bruised once again by the high-heeled steps of the lady dancers.

From his view, he could make out the dozen dancers that were furiously practicing complicated dance steps over and over again. There were specifically two groups during the practices: a group for the extra crew and a group only for Scully and Harry Pendrell. Pendrell was the actor designated to play Darin Dether. To accommodate the varying production numbers, WB had to hire two professional choreographers.

Mulder, with Skinner trailing behind him, waved at the group of extras - who waved back with individual greetings. He also took time to pat the choreographer, Cindy Laurel, on her shoulder. She smiled at him, in that unique graceful way ballet dancers do.

At one corner, he found Scully on her knees, rotating intricately with her torso. Pendrell was resting on a chair with a Coke in one hand, cheering on Spunk as she executed the step in successive increments. Their choreographer, Sara, was sharply coaching Scully to the perfect completion of the step, barking out small commands that made Scully grimace each time she heard them.

"Hey, sunshine!" he called out. Scully heard his voice and she stood erect, her eyes brightening.

Pendrell and Sara also glimpsed at him, giving him pleasant greetings.

It was great to be director. _Really._ You got pleasant greetings all day long.

Standing up, Scully began to rush towards him. Forgetting that she was only clad in a less-than-modest dancing bikini (he gave in to her request of buying a new "dancing" wardrobe last week before the rehearsals started) and that sweat was dripping from every pore of her body, she jumped into giving him a big hug. Mulder didn't pull away. He could never refuse Scully - sweat and all.

"Thank you sooo much. Sara was _killing_ me with that step-" Scully said through his neck, launching into her whispered version of Mrs. Sara's Russian accent, "'Oh, Dana! Carry on dis, carry on dat... no, no _darrrrling_, that's wrong, that's no-ooo..."

Mulder laughed with her, patting her wet back with his free hand.

Releasing him, she realized what she had done and blushed, reddening her already flushed cheeks. Mulder chuckled, bending over to give her a kiss on those red cheeks.

Seeing this, Skinner turned towards Pendrell and Sara, beginning a conversation with them to give Scully and Mulder some privacy.

"Brought you your lunch." He held up the brown paper bag to her face. This only made Scully blush even more. Mulder brought it back down, seeing her reaction. "Why - is there something wrong?"

"Nothing," she said too fast, grabbing the paper bag from his hands. Mulder didn't give it to her. Instead, he raised it over his head where she couldn't reach it.

"Fine, take-advantage-of-my-height." With each word, she tried to reach the lunch bag, but Mulder was far too tall for her to succeed. Accepting that she had lost, Scully crossed her arms under her breasts and cocked an eyebrow at him.

Mulder hid the bag behind his body, effectively away from her. "Ah, I sense a hint of embarrassment from Ms. Scully. Could you tell Mr. Mulder, your personal nanny, what's the big problem?"

"I'm not telling you." The eyebrow only rose higher. That amused Mulder even more.

"Then there's no lunch for Ms. Scully. How's that?"

She smirked, "Pendrell will give me his."

"Oh, and what makes Ms. Scully so sure about that?"

She didn't answer and her blush became crimson. She would burst like a ripened tomato if that blush of hers continued. A vein had to go haywire if that reaction of hers kept on happening.

Mulder didn't quite get what she meant by her reactions, so he took her by the arm and drew her from the others, craning his neck to reach her ear.

"You want to eat lunch with me? Tell me what's bothering you?"

Scully still had her eyebrow intact, but she did allow the corner of her lips to twirl, transforming into her Scully-girl mode. "Anything to make me temporarily forget Sara's voice. And her bulging eyes. Yuck."

* * *

She was still obliged to eat the liverwurst sandwich, and she did that with uncertainty, chewing at the sandwich as if it was the worst tasting meal in the world.

Mulder gulped down his McDonalds Coke, not caring if he had to order another large cup when he left the studio - the sun outside was scorching hot. He fiddled with the insides of his Quarter Pounder, inhaling the wonderful, wonderful scent of fast food grease. Indulgence was minimal these busy days.

As he was chewing on his own lunch, he watched Scully down hers - it must be the most difficult task in the whole wide world. He wondered, irritably, if there was anything wrong with his meal. He prepared the sandwiches himself every day, only asking Jenny to open up the canned liverwurst to make the task easier. Why he did it? Because he knew exactly how Scully wanted her sandwich.

Maybe this time, he spread too much mayonnaise.

"Not good?" he inquired. Scully chewed slowly on her last bite, raising her eyes from him to think about what she was going to say.

"Good, actually." She swallowed, taking a drink of her iced tea, obviously sugarcoating her response. "I wonder how it would taste with lettuce," she said through the straw. Mulder snickered.

"Lettuce? You want lettuce?" When Scully would suggest new ingredients for his recipes, it meant that something was definitely wrong. "Are you tired of liverwurst, Scully?"

She twirled her fork around the spaghetti, "Yeah, I guess I am."

"You tire too fast. What do you want for lunch next time? Something from Jenny's liver menu?"

"Oh, shit - did you taste the one she had soaked in seasoning? That was grody."

Mulder didn't comment. He didn't – never - had tasted one of Jenny's liver cuisines, actually. The first and last time his taste buds encountered something as sordidly _grody_ was when he ate that liver steak back in Vegas.

She licked off the spaghetti sauce from her fork; suddenly deciding that eating wasn't high on her priority list at that moment. "Of course you didn't, did you?" she added as an afterthought.

Still no comment. To avoid the incorrigible eyebrow that still stood on her forehead's peak, Mulder bit into his Quarter Pounder. There was no sense in trying to answer her question. He promised himself back then and there that he would never touch liver again in his whole fucking life.

Feeling the strange urgency to change the subject, Mulder placed his meal down. "And what about that Pendrell comment you made back in the studio?"

Judging from the sudden outburst of blush on Scully's cheek, he had made the right move to change the subject. He was getting her bad to the fucking bone this time.

"Why, Dana Katherine Scully," he mocked, raising that auburn eyebrow another meter high. "You have a crush on that guy?"

She scowled, chewing on her lip. "I don't. He's not appealing."

"Then why are you blushing?"

"Because..." Scully was trailing of. That meant she was not the one who was supposed to be embarrassed. Mulder created an elaborate equation in his brain as Scully left him in silence, resisting to give away what really was happening. She sipped gradually on her iced tea, expecting him to make his discovery any moment.

It hammered on Mulder suddenly, giving him a swift blow to the noggin. Generally, that was what it was all adding up to ... but ...

"NO ..." Mulder triumphantly panned, making Scully blush all over again."Pendrell likes you, doesn't he?"

She avoided his eyes, picking at her spaghetti until all the noodles were meshed up.

Bingo. He hit the million dollar jackpot!

"He likes you and you can't do a fuck about it!"

She rolled her eyes at him. "You could be less blunt about it."

Ah, but being less blunt wasn't their game. Their mid-afternoon conversations had been characteristically less blunt lately. One thing he had learned from those mid-afternoon conversations? Scully was far from being saint. She had an obsession for Aerosmith - yeah, Moonlighting, too - and once filled her teacher's bag with molasses.

"Has he made a pass at you?" Mulder raised, his curiosity growing.

"I'm not sure if it's a pass... the girls were telling me about his illin' gushing on me. I don't think I am at ease with that knowledge. He ... looks at me ..."

"Funny?" Mulder supplied, remembering Alex Kryceck's words to him a month ago. It should bother him that he used the same word in supply for Pendrell's crush on Scully, but anyway, it's not about him. It was about his two stars.

An annoyed grumble came out of his companion. She didn't really like the idea of having someone liking her that way. That idea made another network of ideas control Mulder's mind.

"Not funny-funny, you see ... I just ... I don't know. I guess when I am working with someone professionally, I want it to stay professional."

He wanted to laugh his two-cents in at that statement of hers. That was the most improbable statement Scully had ever made ever since they met. Their relationship was meant to be based on professional rules, but hey, here they were now. She relied on him as if he was her best friend, and he relied on her as if she was his own property. Their relationship certainly had crossed the professional-personal line, so what was her REAL point in this?

He didn't catch Scully studying him during the time he was thinking and absently munching on his disheveled Quarter Pounder, and when she started, he was afraid that he spoke his sentiments out loud.

"We are a different case, Mulder."

Making sure that he was _really _talking this time and not thinking out loud, he interjected, "How are we different from that professional-personal crap?" The last word was muffled by a sip of his coke. He was making sure that she didn't hear the word 'crap' as clear as day.

"You are different from Pendrell. Pendrell's ... he's a good co-worker. We've been working non-stop with each other for almost four weeks and he's a great guy. But you are ... more than that to me. You are my friend. A close friend."

His inner senses were nagging him to stop; for once in his life he should stop. For once in his life he should quit, surrender, wave the white flag, or do something else that signified that he understood her - because he really did.  
But damn it, help him, because he had the stamina of a stallion. The moment he decided to quit on something, the angels would personally descend from the sky to congratulate him.

"Define _friend_."

Oh Christ, there went the ballgame.

Scully was slightly taken aback and she searched his eyes, trying to find what he wanted to hear from her. To diffuse the tension, Mulder closed his eyes, making Scully-girl giggle and strike his hand with a thick slap.

"_Friend_, Mr. Superman-who-cannot-quit, means you own me as much as I own you."

When those words were said, he didn't let them hang in the air for long. His eyes opened with a snap, and he wondered about her last statement. She owned him as much as he owned her. That was ...

She was keen in using the eyebrow on him today. She was holding it up, asking him to refute her last statement. As if her eyebrow was saying, "Ha! See if you can beat that!" - it would've sounded better to him than have her shove that incriminating expression on him.

He was never going to tell her that she practically had him by the neck whenever she raised that damn eyebrow.

"Okay," Mulder agreed. What else would he say? It was true.

Who was he to dispute a red-haired Spunk's statement?

* * *

Pendrell was a veteran of several independent films that were released in Hollywood and other foreign film festivals, and he guest-starred on several episodes of _Cheers_. His latest break, however, rested on his supporting role in the post-War flick, _Genevieve_, which was a sleeper hit. His name was easy enough to be recognized, he had several promising offers under his belt, and had bought a house last year. In short, Pendrell was already climbing up the stepping stones for Hollywood stardom.

He was a good actor, one that Walter himself liked enough for the role, but no one knew that he could dance - let alone handle a movie wherein half the time he had to dance his ass off on screen.

Imagine their surprise when he auditioned for the part of Darin Dether.

Different journalists from varied newspapers crowded outside the WB lot, craning to get a glimpse of Pendrell. Ever since the word broke out that their beloved media darling Harry Pendrell was teaming up with longtime producer Fox Mulder, their tongues started wagging and butts itching. Mulder was a respectable producer in Hollywood - he had made a name for himself when he co-produced _Growing Pains_ and _All in the Family_ including the numerous movies he had graced over the years. He left TV soon after that for he always knew that he was meant for the movies.

Imagine everyone's surprise, too, when WB announced a new 'untitled' film will be released late next year. It was starring an unknown, Dana Katherine Scully, and their beloved darling Harry Pendrell, with Fox Mulder as the director.

So far, that was the week's fucking scoop.

Mulder was reviewing the final draft of the script. He had dismissed Kim an hour ago, wanting to be alone while he assessed the whole film in his mind; while he envisioned the whole thing once more, as he had done the past months. With the different ending, he wanted something more dreary, something more dramatic, so that the production numbers would come out as spectacular - lighting up the whole cinema and movie screens with their own dazzling effects.

He also asked Kim to throw in a scene wherein Aida would be brushing a towel over her sweat-stained neck. For that scene, he had requested (more like 'warned') Scully that he'd have her dancing for an hour before they shoot it. He wanted her to emerge on screen with her natural flush.

Admitting it quietly to himself, he had a certain Scully-fetish conjured: one that had towel and sweat involved. Kim was becoming increasingly frustrated with his suggestion of that scene that she basically threw the script into his face. She shouted at him, saying that she had rewritten Scene III for that particular vision to be accommodated.

Thank you. She had officially made Fox William Mulder the happiest director in WB.

The only problem right now was the film's title. They couldn't keep telling the press that they were working on this "yet-to-be-titled" movie, especially when they were as persistent as bears to a honeycomb. For today, he let his personal publicist take care of them by releasing statements from Mr. Mulder and Mr. Pendrell that should satisfy them for the meantime.

Kim had given him the honors to title the movie, since it was his directorial debut. His producers were also hesitant in suggesting anything, leaving the job to him and him alone.

Mulder sighed, stretching his long legs out before him on the dinky make-shift table. This was where he worked when in the WB lot, inside a make-shift office in an old studio where he could be left alone to contemplate all day. That was when he used to produce the shows ... things had changed, sure, but Mulder was still unperturbed in his spot. When he sat at the dusty old leather chair, propped his feet on the ailing wooden table, chewed on sunflower seeds ... he had his own slice of heaven on earth.

"Fuck," Mulder cursed as his office phone began to ring, taking with it his deep concentration. Just what he needed for today: more reporters sinking into his private line - them getting his number from "unknown" sources. (Thanks _a lot_, Alex Kryceck.)

Half of his curses made their way into the receiver, which he eased away with another faked pleasant "Hello."

"Mulder, Walter here. Got news."

"Shoot away, Skinman."

"Does the name Lucy Doggett ring a bell somewhere?" His producer's voice was tingling from time to time, making Mulder sit up straight. Lucy Doggett? Was she a sister of his best friend or something? The name wasn't anyway familiar.

"No. Does Doggett have a sister? He's an only child, right?"

"Christ, Mulder," Walter groaned, crushing his breathing against the line. "Lucy Doggett - John and Monica's got a girl."

"A GIRL?" Mulder jumped to his feet, his heart doubling in size at the news. He couldn't believe it! His best party animal got a girl! He didn't know whether he should start jumping up or down or head towards the hospital in no time.

Skinner apparently had a premonition of his dilemma. "I've set up a van outside of your office," he cleared his throat to indicate that he look outside the thick blinds coating the room.

Mulder moved towards the nearest window, pelting the blinds apart. Sure enough, there was a black Ford van outside, waiting for him. A driver was also there, knocking himself out on cigarettes under the heat of the sun.

"That's to pass through the back gates, where the reporters wouldn't be able to run after you. Hop on in, Mulder. I'll follow afterwards."

The Director was about to hang up when he remembered something - or someone. He frantically began to call Skinner's name. His friend went back on the line, sounding panicked.

"Could I come and get Scully?"

At that request, Walter gritted his teeth.

"I'll bring her to the hospital for you."

"Be gentle with her, okay?"

Mulder pushed the phone down the cradle before Walter could answer and hurried outside.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

* * *

**A/N: **Expect Chapter Seventeen in the next few days and I think it is one of the most exciting chapters of this whole story. You'll see why. ;)


	20. Chapter Seventeen: LA Hospital

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:**

* * *

Room #563  
Los Angeles Hospital  
June 15, 1985  
Saturday

_"Mi Amigo!"_

Monica's warm greetings met Mulder as he entered her hospital room, carrying on one arm a large basket of stuffed pink animal toys. He removed his Ray-Bans and inserted them in his breast pocket. "Hey _mon ami-e_! How are you doing?" he returned, striding to the middle of the room.

John was standing beside the hospital bed, holding a bundle of fuzzy pink blankets and flailing little arms. He was cooing gently to his daughter. Monica, surprisingly awake after almost twenty hours of labor, was all smiles and glittery eyes she straightened up on her bed to welcome his presence. Mulder placed the basket of toys near Monica, where she could see it. The large grin on her face told him that his present was very much appreciated.

Leaning over, he kissed the woman on the cheek. "Finally, huh? That little baby's long overdue."

John, who seemed to have snapped momentarily from baby-cloud-nine, took time to notice his best pal. "Lucy finally decided that she's done being shy. Thanks for coming at once, Mulder." John returned to Lucy, who started blindly following John's finger on her cheek. His best pal laughed and kissed his daughter tenderly on the forehead.

"Lucy?" Mulder perked, throwing a dubious glance at Monica. She shrugged.

"I was too tired to argue. You have to admit, it's pretty cute."

"You're mocking me, John." Mulder turned back to John and _Lucy_. "You're mocking me for naming my own daughter _Emily_. You just had to go on and name yours Lucy."

Doggett shot eye-daggers at him as he rocked the baby gently in his arms. "Mine's from the TV show."

"Fine. So it IS pretty cute."

Monica giggled, resting a hand on the bulge on her stomach. Despite the obvious fatigue on her face, she was overcoming her exhaustion to be accomodating. Mulder admired that in her.  
Despite their sometimes more-than-obvious differences, she was John's pillar of strength. A woman dedicated to her husband and now, new daughter.

That was when Scully entered the room, followed shortly by Walter. The Spunk was still slightly sweating from her practice, but seemed very excited to meet Lucy. Her hair was all tousled, oversized shirt disheveled, and her shoe laces weren't in perfect knots. She spotted him and he left to meet her halfway into the room. She didn't seem up to moving on her own to accost the couple and their newest baby. Her topaz irises were also unsteady. She kept scanning the room over and over again.

Walter went on greeting Monica and John, also taking his turn to gush at the baby. The three adults were laughing when Scully turned to Mulder. She was wiping herself dry with a face towel.

"Have you seen her?"

Mulder shook his head no.

"Will you see her with me?"

He put his hand on the small of her back and led her towards Monica. Before they reached the bedside, he whispered into her ear. "How are you holding up?"  
Scully's blue eyes fidgeted for the last time, then relaxed.

"I'm fine. As long as I'm not the patient, I think I'll be fine." Her hands were slightly shaking, though. He could see that she was faking bravado for the situation. It was all for Monica and her new baby - obviously, it meant a lot for the couple to have Spunk there. They had made it clear before that they were very fond of her.

He wanted to hold her hand, lay it on his abdominal muscles, and make her feel the heat of his body to reassure her that he was right beside her; Scully, when unsteady on her the top that she spun uptight for herself, usually needed his physical contact to snap back into her usual "Scully" mode. That would probably explain her endless need of feeling him beside her - nightmare or no nightmare.

He was not going to file any complaint about that fact anytime soon, but holding her hand right now would probably not do their relationship any better to the other people in the room. Monica and John were already suspicious, despite his truthful denial. Walter, well, Walter was Walter. He would only act if the situation arose, then would start pounding him until there was nothing to pound anymore.

Scully bent over, somewhat similar to what he had done minutes ago, to kiss Monica on the cheek. They began to speak in hushed Welsh. At one point, they began to laugh while Scully pointed down at Monica's stomach. Her eyes sparkled as she placed a palm on her friend's stomach, gently pressing as if in wonder. She was in complete wonder on how such a miracle would come about, no matter how much science captivated her; pregnancy and birth are still miracles that have continually been defined and redefined by most religions.  
Or, she was missing her sister again.

"Do you want to see Lucy?" Monica asked, this time in English, meaning that he was included in the offer. Scully glanced at him behind her, and he smiled.

She eased her way out of the Monica's bedside, stepping up near Mulder to follow him towards John. The new father, his face still beaming with unaccountable pride, offered Lucy to Scully.

She giggled nervously, "I haven't done this before."

John shrugged. "It's maternal instinct, Dana. Women all know how to handle babies."

"And handle men, too," Walter side-tracked, leaning against the wall by John, an amused smirk on his face. Hearing this, John also smirked.

Mulder tried hard not to take offense. It was a private joke on the men's part, noting how Scully has somewhat "tamed" the drinking/partying animal in Mulder, without even trying at all. He argued that it was more so because of his dedication to directing the movie, but they just shushed him with another subject. It was a topic they think they had covered.

Scully nervously held her arms out, and John placed Lucy in them. The baby molded into her chest, reveling in her flushed warmth. She held the baby close to her, dipping her head low and marveling silently at the little girl's beauty. Mulder drew close, peering at the new human being over her shoulder.

The baby had John's eyes, definitely, but Monica's hair and softer features. She'd be a beautiful lady someday, with pink lips and tanned skin – probably speaking Spanish and turning heads until John's own spun in anger.

"My ... she's so pretty," Scully whispered, gazing up to meet Mulder's eyes. He thought she was tearing up, but she turned head back before he could contemplate on it.

"She's like you, _mi dama roja_," Monica said, as John sat on the corner of the bed, taking his wife's hand in his. "Just as I have wanted."

Scully blushed, cradling the baby closer to her.

"_Eich ycread o cwmwl_, Lucy." Her words were so soft that Mulder was the only one who heard it. The other three people were now excitedly talking about something he didn't want to delve into.

Mulder moved closer to her, resting his chin on her shoulder. His breath on her neck almost made the young woman jump, but she relaxed when he casually placed a hand on her hip, feeling tension there for no reason at all.

Making sure that he wasn't imagining what her feelings were, Mulder caught her face in his two fingers and turned it slightly towards him so he could see her eyes, so he could read her eyes. Thank God their backs were turned from the others and they were too busy throwing jokes around that they didn't notice the how close Mulder suddenly was to Scully.

Her eyes were shaky, cloudy, with large dollops of tears forming at the corners. For a moment, he desperately wanted to kiss the tears away; however, that wouldn't do any good. When he offered his care openly, Scully would always melt like quicksand into his arms, Spunk unclasping and Scully-girl launching. He didn't want her to _melt_ right in front of their friends.  
Then, he knew that his hand on her hip, a small smile from him, or any other touch he willingly gifted her with seemed to strengthen her. It was complicated, what they had, that was what it was.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he gently probed, curling his fingers around her waist. Scully cooed to the baby, not answering him.

After a heartbeat, she did answer him: "I'm fine, Mulder."

Only, it wasn't much of an answer.

That's Scully officially turning to Spunk-mode.

He stepped back, just in time, as the others launched their searing attention at Scully. She returned the baby to John's arms reluctantly, pressing a soft kiss on Lucy's forehead. Pulling back, she blinked several times.

* * *

He was laughing aloud, kicking around his bare feet against the damp green grass, clutching his stomach to stop the laughter. Tears started to stream down his cheeks, and the funniest thing about it was he couldn't even remember the damn joke.

Lifting his head from the shards of grass, he saw Scully hovering over him. Her eyes were brimming with ecstatic happiness; chin length hair swaying around her face, and lips puckered post- giggling. Her beauty was in its rawest form, for she was without her usual face powder and he could clearly see the freckles on her cheeks, and it was enough to send Mulder away. Far away to a place where he could stay forever, a place where he could be left in peace, a place where he could just look at her.

"You are so beautiful," he said aloud. Reaching out to touch her cheek, his other hand went down to cup her spine, drawing her closer to him.

"Oh, you do not know beautiful." Her voice was still full of mirth, of unmarred giddiness that was unfamiliar to her, or him. This was a different woman, a different Scully. She was so pure, like an angel. His eyes hurt to look at her, at her purest form. God, what was happening? He couldn't be home - this couldn't be Scully, Spunk, the woman so full of ...

"You think too much, Mulder." Scully closed the gap between them and pressed a kiss on his forehead. This took Mulder by surprise; she had never attempted to kiss him on any living, breathing part of his body. He had kissed her many, many times - but other than occasional hugs, she had never kissed him at all.

Christ.

Mulder's mind raced against the clock.

_Why are you doing this to me?_

"And why can't I do this with you?" An eyebrow arched, as her hand found the hollow of her clavicle, where her golden cross was settling. Mulder didn't know what to say. It was as if Scully could read his mind - every word, every thought, every image. He didn't know whether he should be scared or amazed.

She bent over once again and rested her head on Mulder's heart, listening intently to the reckoning beats. Inhaling deeply, she caressed the skin under his nape.

Mulder couldn't resist her ... not when she was like this to him, not when it felt as good as heaven.

"Do you know me at all, Mulder?"

He wanted to laugh again, to remember the damn joke that made him laugh like crazy in the first place and laugh like death until the tears stung his eyes. Anything at all … anything to stop himself from answering her question.

Scully's hand lingered on his lips, taking him once again in surprise. She pressed lightly on his mouth, feeling each curve and slope. Mulder closed his eyes, not really wanting to dwell on how she was making him feel.

"You don't," she answered for him, slowly reiterating the words as if she was reading them directly from his mind. "You give me everything and you don't know me at all."

"You don't let me know you," he said back, gently pushing away her hand from his face and resting it on his chest.

"Do you want to know me? To know if I am as beautiful as you think I am?" Her tone of innocence played in Mulder's mind like little gremlins, scaring the shit out of him. How could she say that? Scully was beautiful, and that was speaking small of it.

She giggled, a sound so pleasing to his ears that he craved more of it at once. "I appreciate your admiration, Mulder. I really do."

"Then tell me how could I know you." He picked himself up, ushering her with him as he sat up. Her eyes were wide and mysterious, vast depths of topaz oceans as he pulled her onto his lap. An arm went around his neck, and he nuzzled the flesh underneath her ear, whisking into his lungs that wonderful Scully-scent.

"Tell me how I could ... I want to, Scully. Let me."

She kissed his cheek, probably the only part she could reach in their current position. The wet of her upper lip met his earlobe, almost making him jump yet again. "You already are trying."

"How am I trying? Tell me something, tell me something that'll make sense, please." Mulder pressed himself tighter against her warm body, finding there the real heaven, the real salvation.

How could she feel this good? Was it even legal to feel this good with a woman twice his age? Shit. He needed a sign. Give him a sign and he'd know when to stop. He'd stop and he'd leave her alone, just give him a fucking sign to stop and he would. Because if this started, he wouldn't be able to stop it.

No, he couldn't and wouldn't.

If it was any indication, Scully's soft breasts brushed his chest, taking most of his oxygen supply, and _will _to not get into a hard-on. That wasn't really much of his choice, actually, but he could try. And she was sitting on his lap. God, he was going to try against trying.

"There's nothing to be said." Scully lifted her hand up once again and pressed it on his heart. For a moment, he was so struck by her suggestion that he could only hear his own heart beat in his ear, as if her hand had transmitted the sound suddenly to his brain.

A single word tore through Mulder's mind.

_No._

"We both stood yesterday, on separate stages. There's no one stopping us from dancing together today," she whispered, her mouth dangerously close to his. "You are getting to know me, little by little, you're almost there."

"No, Scully... not you. I can't ... I can't..." Mulder stuttered, drifting away from her tempting mouth and burying himself in her neck. He couldn't do this. Not her, of all people. He couldn't.

"You do not know beautiful. I want you to know beautiful. _You_ are beautiful to me."

"No, please... don't... do this to me..."

"I'm -"

"No, Scully, DON'T," he pushed, almost spitting the words out. He lifted his head from her neck, and gasped.

His arms were empty. She was gone. Just like that. She was gone without a trace; he could only smell her lingering scent and the fading taste of her fingertips on his lips.

_Gone._

Screams awakened him, and despite being groggy, his mind made him jump out of his bed and run out the confines of his room.

Once outside, he began to snap into reality. Mulder's ears strained for the muffled painful shouts, and he immediately recognized it. He had been hearing it for two months now, and he could recognize that sound of desperation a hundred miles away from her.

_Scully_.

Mulder ran down the stairs, almost tripping on his feet as he struggled against the dark. He narrowly missed the priceless Incan vase on his table top when he was pierced by another pained scream from the guest room. It sounded too painful this time. He was frightened, his heart beating what felt like three times a second, and he was dead scared this time for it hadn't been this loud before.

Finally, he reached her room, pushed the door aside, and burst in.

Scully was squirming on her bed, clutching the covers around her painfully. Sweat soaked her from head to toe. Her face was also pale -and as he stood there, taking it all in - he noticed a deceptive trickle of blood. Not from her nose this time, but from her lips. She has been biting into them too hard.

Taking action, Mulder ran to her side, collapsing on his knees. He held her by the shoulders and started shaking her, to rip her out of her nightmare. He honestly didn't know what to do first - wake her up, wipe the blood from her chin, or call 911. This was getting too serious for him to fucking handle.

"Scully!" he shouted, shaking harder when she wasn't responding. "Scully! Wake up! Scully please wake up!" his voice shamelessly begged, seeing that his rattling wasn't doing anything better. She kept thrashing from side to side, within his grasp, in extreme and terrible pain.

_Great God_, Mulder's confused brain thought, _what's happening to her?_

He shook her again, this time so hard that her head bounced up and down on the wet pillows, and it snapped her from her dream.

Scully gasped, as if she was unhooked from a respirator. Her eyes scanned the rest of her room with outright fear, finally settling on his form. A moment passed, with terror reigning in her as she studied his outline. Mulder almost panicked, finding no amount of recognition in her.

She didn't seem to know it was him.

"Mul - der?" It was a shaky indication, but enough for him to be assured. He nodded slowly, as if communicating with a one-year old who was learning vocabulary for the first time. Reaching out to wipe a trace of sweat from her chin, he couldn't help shivering. Unabashed dread was seizing his heart.

"Yes, it's me, Scully... you're safe. You're here and you're safe," he conveyed, saying the words as slowly as possible, still unsure whether she could comprehend or not.

"_No. mo 'n ddihangol!"_ she screamed at him. Mulder shook his head this time, taking her head between his hands gently, silent pleading for her to look at him.

"I don't understand you, Scully -"

"_Chyfnertha'm, blesio, e s yn cerdded at d ata_!" Her voice was rising, taking a steep crescendo that frightened the shit out of Mulder. She was speaking in Welsh - uncomprehending, mundane, demented Welsh.

Unconsciously, he swiped a trickle of blood from her chin.

Mulder racked his brain for some Welsh words that he had learned from her over the past weeks as Scully rambled on and on in sticky syllables, and from the best of his knowledge, he could make out repeating paragraphs.

He had to try, had to try to make her understand him.

Firmly planting her head between his palms, this time, he forced her to stare into his eyes. "No..." he uttered, trying to remember the next word.

Speak was _siarad_, Mulder's brain shrieked at him.

"_Siared_..." It was inadequate Welsh, but Scully simmered down, in a weird sense understanding him, _finally_. Encouraged, he continued, feeling for scattered Welsh phrases in the same dark that surrounded them.

And the last word- Welsh was _Cymraeg_. "No siared Simraegg," Mulder finished.

She stared back at him as if he had pronounced alien language right out of freaking outer space. Mulder licked his lips, swallowing his emotions that bubbled too close to the surface. "I don't speak Welsh, Scully - Dana, I don't."

She licked her own bloody lips, holding their gazes together in a magnetic pull. "_Cadw fi diogel?_" A question, goddammitt - Mulder exhaled steadily, keeping himself calm. He had to pry her out of her subconscious mumblings of Welsh to know what was going on, to kno -

"Keep me safe, Mulder?"

Hearing her speaking the English language made Mulder cry out in joy, and as an answer to that, he shoved her right into his arms, cradling her closer.

"Yes, that's what I'm here for. I'm going to keep you safe."

That was her ultimate surrender. Without another word, Scully landed right onto his lap, closing in on his neck, pressing her wet forehead under his chin. Mulder gathered her close, slipping one hand under her knees and the other secured around her waist.

"I'm going to bring you upstairs, to my room, Scully. I'll sleep on the couch -"

"No, don't. Keep me safe, please."

There was no sense in arguing this. He very well knew that it meant Scully would be sleeping with him on his bed. That simple course of action, somehow, made her feel safe - from whatever she wanted to be safe from.

Mulder would nurture that need. There was no sense in arguing about that this evening.

He began to whisper some instructions into Scully's ear as he prepared himself to stand up with her weight - telling her as gingerly as possible to wipe her wounded mouth on his shirt, and with that, he stood up. Her added weight, no matter how light she was, still made him stand wobbly and uncertain, but Mulder quickly adjusted. Before the next minute struck, Mulder was carrying Scully up the stairs, mindful of each step in the dark, holding her firmly in his grasp.

* * *

"Scully, listen to me, you've soaked your clothes, so I - you have to take 'em off or else you'll get sick. I'll give you one of my t- shirts and -"

Spunk, on his king-sized bed, was now gently collapsing into unconsciousness. Her eyelids fluttered with each word he was saying, her tongue again caressing her broken lip. Mulder tried to somehow wake her up to get her to change clothes, but Scully was fast loosening her grip on reality, and soon she was snoring softly on his blankets.

Studying the situation at hand, there was no other choice but for him to change her clothes himself. With that knowledge, he reminded himself that he had to act like a professional would. This was Scully, for crying out loud. He wasn't supposed to be attracted to her at all.  
He didn't give himself time to ponder on that and busied himself by grabbing one of his oversized t-shirts inside the drawers.

He didn't turn on the lights; scared enough that Scully might react violently towards the brightness. Admitting it to himself secretly, he didn't want to see the exact amount of blood she had on her pajama top - or on his own white shirt. He'd have to change attire too before climbing in the bed.

With her.

Mulder bit his lip, not as forceful as Scully did with hers, but enough to stop his overactive brain from neurosis. Goddamn shit, he would go fucking crazy if he thought about this night.

Placing the t-shirt on the foot of the bed, he let himself relax first before turning Scully towards him. His fingers were noticeably shaking as he began to unbutton her pajama top.

When he reached the middle button – atop her stomach - he was surprised to find no underwear covering her breasts.

Blood rushed to Mulder's northern and southern poles at the same time. This couldn't be happening.

She didn't wear a bra. Of all the nights she wouldn't wear a bra - she didn't wear one tonight. Of all the nights...

There went his bullshit grammar.

Willing himself to close his eyes, he proceeded with the task through half-mast eyelids. Still, that was enough for him to see the hard pink nipples that were pushing through the fabric of the thin pajamas. They were porcelain, rounded skin held by coral-tipped womanly bosoms...  
Mulder braced himself as gravity slid one part of the fabric downwards, giving him the biggest peek of all - her bare breast right in front of him.

Shit.

His mind raced, stretching out from its nap and slyly grinning at him.

She was twenty and he was pushing forty and he was feeling all the blood in the damn fucking groin and he had to stop this damn thing that he was doing because she was too damn beautiful...

Scully's eyes flew open, and like an awakened feral animal, she scampered away from him and towards the headboard. Fear coated her every movement as she attempted to button her pajama top - with small success.

Surprised by this and sensing the emanating terror within her, he sat down on his bed, keeping distance from her.

"Scully, it's me, Mulder. I'm undressing you because you were out cold. If I didn't change your clothes, you'll have a fever. The air conditioning ..."

"_Peidio!_" she screamed, huddling into the corner even more, reducing herself to an impossibly small shivering ball.

Mulder stole a moment to steady himself. Welsh, she was going to _Welsh_ again. How could he understand her like this?

It became an unbearable dance of dim helplessness. He pleaded repeatedly for her understand while she spurted curt words at him - as if he was another person that she greatly feared and hated at the same time.

"No, I can't speak Welsh - _siared_..."

"_Atal!_"

"Scully, Dana, listen to me! I can't speak Welsh! It's me, Fox Mulder!"

"_Aros!_"

"Snap out of it! You're safe here! I'm not going to hurt you!"

"..._Os gwelwch yn dda! Mother ewyllys cosbi chi!_"

"No ... no ... I'm not going to hurt you! Are you looking for your Mother? She's not here - I don't know where..."

She abruptly held her small cross necklace with her shaking fingers, eyes wide and teary. He didn't notice that she was wearing it until that moment.

"_Chi eisiau hwn?_" More frantic motions on the cross, this time almost pulling it from her neck. Alarmed that she could hurt herself, Mulder kneeled on all fours, crawling inch by inch towards her.

He stopped when she closed her eyes and ripped the cross from her neck, the golden chain leaving red scratches on her white skin.

She held it out to him, dropping it on the mattress between them. The broken chain landed near his knees, but he didn't make any motion of retrieving it.

"_Gadael!_" Another rough word, making Mulder tilt his head back to her face, another shock waiting for him.

It wasn't enough for her mouth to bleed - something else just had to go wrong.

Her nose was bleeding now.

"Christ, Scully, you're bleeding ... your nose ..."

Those words had the desired effect, and with wonder, Scully touched the skin under her patrician nose. Blood colored her fingertips and she lifted her finger to watch the crimson substance gleam in the moonlight.

Mulder remained still, almost forgetting how to breathe. He allowed her to take her time, to get rid of her delusions. He didn't need a PhD in languages to understand through her demeanor that she was in another time, another space - far away from him.  
He thanked the heavens when a sense of sanity and recognition filled Scully's eyes as she stared back at him. Tears were mingling with those emotions, but she was fine now. Shaky, teary-eyed, bleeding ... but fine.

"Oh, Mulder ... I'm sorry ..."

He crawled forward to take her back into his arms for the second time that night. He cradled her between his crossed legs, and she fit perfectly, clinging onto him as if he was life and death.

Whispering soothing words, Mulder tilted her head upwards to stop her bleeding. "Don't talk, it's all fine. Relax, relax."

She did as he asked, until the bleeding stopped. When that was taken care of, Mulder surveyed the enormous amounts of splattered blood on her shirt and his. That reality made Mulder nauseous. Maybe he'd ask a doctor tomorrow to come and check on Scully. Someone had to tend to the scratches on her neck and the wound on her lip.

"I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm so sorry."

He kissed the top of her head, the closest part to his lips. "It's okay, Scully. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No... I- I'm sorry."

"Shush, stop saying sorry. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Everything's wrong here." She laughed sadly, almost hauntingly to his ears. She gestured towards her haphazardly buttoned pajama top, to the bloodstains on it, to those on his shirt, on the rumpled sheets, and with a sob, to the broken cross necklace near her feet.

Mulder picked it up for her, holding it in his hand towards her face.

"I'll get it fixed for you tomorrow; first thing on my list in the morning, okay? I want you to rest tonight - get a clear head. I'll call in sick for both of us tomorrow and we'll blame that on Jenny."

Despite everything that had happened, Scully managed to laugh - a genuine string of "ha." Mulder kissed her for the last time on the head, before asking her to change clothes and to put some antiseptics on her neck's red cuts. He needed to change himself and the cross had to be placed in a safe box for tomorrow.

When everything was more or less 'right' for them, Scully slipped under the covers, leaving space for him. He hesitated at first, but she pulled him to the bed with one of her death grips and he had no choice but to sink in.

Scully settled herself in his arms, front to front, one rather undermining position. Her head found a spot on his chest, her legs twining with his. Mulder watched her fit her small body on his larger one with fascination, and that fascination did him in. Within minutes, his breathing slowed down and he entered a limbo that his Scully dream version personally set up for him.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**


	21. Chapter Eighteen: Mulder Manor

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN/EPILOGUE TO BOOK ONE:**

* * *

Mulder Manor  
Beverly Hills, Los Angeles  
June 16, 1985  
Sunday

Mulder was hugging something. It definitely wasn't a pillow, it was something more tender, not a blanket too, something firmer, not Scully ...

Red lights blinked in Mulder's head.

_Not Scully?!_

He opened his eyes to the expanse of soft white flesh peeking in between cotton shorts and a thick wool shirt. That layer of white flesh was where his nose was currently situated, as if he were a puppy searching for something delicious. This was delicious, no doubt, and through his

sluggish state, Mulder had conveniently tightened his arm around wherever it was around on. The red lights in his mind mellowed down to greens.

A voice above him wheezed out, "Fuck, Mulder, if you hug me any tighter, you're going to kill me."

His grip around Scully relaxed, but he didn't let go. It felt too good, to hold her like that, to have his face buried in her lower back and to feel her flat stomach heaving in and out under his bicep. "Whatcha doin'?" he slurred, his breath on her bare skin sending goose bumps across the skin he was holding against his face.

"I'm ... I'm filing your expense report for the month of June, sifting through stuff ... I've called in sick for both of us this morning."

"Filing my expense reports? This _morning_? Scully ... on the bed?"

What he really wanted to tell her was that she should still be resting (thanks to his still muddled brain, it didn't come out that way). Last night wasn't just a normal _nightmare_ for her. That certainly had to be traumatic, as a former student of psychology, he knew something was wrong. That was certainly the first time she spit Welsh at him and thought him to be another figure.

A rustling of papers, being tacked to a neat bundle, reached his ear. "Yes, this morning. I need to get my mind back on track ... and at least when the end of June comes, there wouldn't be much to be knackered about, don't you think?" She was sifting through many pages as she conversed with him, incredibly patient with his physical contact. "I didn't really want to leave you here this

Morning ... so umm, I decided to do this right here... and you've certainly made yourself comfortable."

True, he appeared comfy against her skin, hugging her like a discontented lover hungry for more of her flesh.

Mulder shifted, suddenly uneasy. He didn't want Scully noticing his morning erection, right?

He pulled his hand and head away from her enticing warmth, and instead dropped his head on the silky pillows where _it _should be. He made also sure that there was a pillow ready to rest in between his legs when he pulled away.

Scully seemed alarmed by his reaction. She followed his body with a careful eye while absently moving the papers and ball pen in her grasp.

"Hey, I wasn't really complaining. It's all right," she said softly, just enough for him to hear it and consider it as an invitation.

"Nah, I'm fine, Scully. Who did you talk to in WB?"

Seeing that there wasn't a chance in hell that Mulder would return to her, she slowly sifted through the papers again, once in a while stopping to underline paragraphs with her red marker. "Walter... he said it was okay, we should drink a lot of water to ease the indigestion and be back tomorrow."

"You know it's a Sunday, right?"

"Yeah, it is. We do work on a Sunday anyway."

"Yeah, we do. But ... do you want to go somewhere today? Church?"

A snicker and more underlining with that red pen. "Mulder, I'm warning you."

"Sorry," he apologized, digging his heels into the bed. He stretched out his long limbs, hearing bones cracking as he did so. Ah, that was heavenly. The small exercise made his head clearer and sheathed last night's woes away - temporarily, that was, but it would do.

"How are you doing? Your lip?"

Scully turned to him and pointed to her mouth. The wound, now forming a scab, was pooled in glistening petroleum jelly; that was also the first time Mulder noticed that Scully was wearing a green turtleneck to hide the marks on her neck.

Sitting up, Mulder pushed the thick cotton down until he could see her clavicle, until the nasty red marks were visible to him. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, so he turned her slightly once again so he could see the biggest graze of all - where the chain broke, just below her the end of roots.

Scully sat patiently as he inspected her, occasionally rolling her eyes when he winced at what he was seeing. He was overreacting, of course, what harm could a necklace do? Sure, a little blood and a few scratches - nothing that wouldn't heal in a few days.  
He wanted to pull at her strings, truth out.

"Watcha put on them?"

"Iodine; antiseptic. It'll heal in at most three days, Mulder."

"Do you want me to call a doctor to give you his professional advice?"

"No, I don't need a doctor. I'm fine, better than ever, actually." She smiled to prove her statement, only wincing when her wounded lip was stretched. Mulder raised an eyebrow of disapproval.

To change the subject from last night, Scully bounded off the bed. The papers moved in the direction of her body's wake, but he reflexively caught them with one hand. Scully searched for her slippers, finding them half-hidden under the bed. " I've made us breakfast. Do you want to eat? I could bring your food here."

She was probably only coaxing him to forget about calling a doctor, but he's an easily coaxed man: he would fall for it. The offer was too fucking good to be ignored. "I'm getting royal treatment. I'm not going to argue with that. Sure."

Before he knew it, Scully was out of the room, skidding through the stairs ... with her fluffy slippers making squeaky sounds on the fine wood.

Now alone, Mulder yawned heavily, scratching his stomach. His attention fixated on the mountains of papers Scully had deposited on the bed while he was asleep, grimacing at the enormous amount he had spent for The Four Queens hotel back in Las Vegas, and also taking note of the doctor's fee. That was when he got a little enthusiastic with the gin and was bonked by the damn glass.

He had to admit that the apartment he had gotten for him and Scully was more or less a steal, and she wasn't at all splurging when he allowed her to buy a new set of clothes. If she was Diana, she would've wiped out Versace's stock without feeling guilty. Scully was able to make herself pretty within budget. _Gracias _to Monica, too.

Through the mountain of receipts, Mulder spotted a yellowing piece of paper. He picked it up gently, wary that the brittle threads could break anytime. There was writing on it, scripted and captioned "Danced Yesterday." The words suddenly hit him like a brick.  
It was stapled to a photograph, and with piqued interest, Mulder squinted his eyes to see through the sepia. It was a picture of Scully … or was it Scully?

The photograph had old smudges from fingerprints, water, and other unnamed things. Scratched at one side; yellowing from old age. If it was Scully in the picture - the woman was an exact carbon copy of her - and she appeared so innocent in it ... so beautiful, with sun-kissed lilies rolling in her red hair. Her stare at the camera was so intense that Mulder felt a pull, felt a beckoning to give in to something his emotions were plunging into

There were also some writing at one corner, but it was too smeared off for him to read ...

"Mulder, w- what are you doing with that?"

Scully's voice shattered his resolve and he dropped the paper to his knees. Lifting his head up to meet her eyes, he found Scully holding his tray of breakfast - stance steady, but her face a mask of confusion. Immediately, he understood that she was nervous about his discovery.

"I'm so sorry, Scully... I saw it lying there and I wasn't thinking -"

She neared him on the bed, resting the tray of food on Diana's former vanity table. She sat down beside him, touching his shoulder lightly to assure him that there was no trouble, and picked up the paper and photograph. She cradled them on one palm, touching the seared ends with much affection.

"This is my mother. Her name's Margaret Scully."

Mulder didn't know what to say. The woman in the photograph looked so much like Scully - almost a photocopy of the Spunk.

If he didn't know better, he would say that Dana Scully was created solely from the genes of her own mother.

His silence allowed Scully the courage to continue. "They say that she is so much like me. My Mother also loved dancing. She took dancing classes over and over again every year, improving with every movement, with every twirl, with every step."

"She _is_ literally so much like you, Scully... hell, I thought she _was_ you."

Spunk smiled at his comment, still not tearing her eyes from the photograph. "She spoke Welsh with so much charisma, with so much love. She inherited grandmother's and grandfather's love for the language and she used Welsh like no one else. I believed that I was born to an ethereal creature. I thought I was born from an angel." Her tongue reflexively snaked out to lick the hardening blood on her wound. "You know how kids are, believing that their parents are some kind of a greater god. I was like that."

"That's normal, Scully."

"I know," she sighed, this time turning to the attached yellowing piece of pad paper. "Everyone alive in Milford Haven thought I was her. They call me 'Margaret' on the

streets, and when I don't turn they would grab me by the shoulder and ask me where I have been. I would laugh and introduce myself as Dana. They would be disappointed and then tell me how much I look like her."

"What's that?" He pointed at the paper. Scully held it up for him to see the words written on it.

"Unlike me, my Mother was more patient with the guitar. This is a song she wrote ... for a special someone. I tore it from her diary before I left Wales."

"Stealing, Scully?" Mulder teased to lighten the mood. She shook her head with a small wispy grin.

"No, not really. Here, read it."

She offered it to him. Mulder accepted the paper, and in the process, also pulling Scully into his body. He missed her warmth already and he was going to resolve that problem himself.

She laughed at his attempt, struggling against his stronger grip, but to no avail. She landed on his lap, her head pillowing on the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

There was still a reasonable amount of twisting and to settle her down, Mulder held her stomach close to him. She loosened in his grip, taking slow breaths as she sank into his arms, eyes closing. Mulder kissed the tip of her nose, and then stuck his cheek to her forehead as he read the song.

"Tell me what you are thinking this very moment, tell me why your eyes twinkle for every other laughter that drives over your lips, tell me why you cry whenever you look at the shiny surface of that broken glass, tell me why a million people dance in front of you, but you only dance with one, tell me why you are you?

"You tip-toe on physical touches, double-over body heat, cross your fingers on success, sway through my kisses, you dance your life away ... you dance and forget that you stood yester ..."

Scully moved her head so that she could see his expression, but their present position - her eyes hidden under his chin - made it impossible for her. So she asked, instead. "Why are you stopping?"

Mulder rested his lips on her forehead, thinking hard. The words were so familiar, so damn fucking familiar that each word in the song was striking a chord in his heart. He knew those phrases - those very, very familiar phrases.

"I don't know, Scully. This is so familiar to me."

"Familiar?" If she wasn't tucked under his chin, he would be seeing that crooked auburn eyebrow again.

"Yeah... I don't really know. Maybe I'm imagining, but ... do you remember the chords of this song, Scully?"

"I could play it on the guitar. Do you have one?"

"Yes, I do," Mulder said, scanning the rest of the song. It was so strange: the words were stirring something within him, as if further beckoning him, telling him that there was something more beneath these words.

A hand found the creases on his forehead. "You think too much, Mulder," Scully remarked, gently easing the crevices on his skin.

Then it hit him.

The dream. He was laughing about a joke he couldn't remember. Scully appeared before him and she was so beautiful that it hurt to look at her. She said those same words, that he thought too much, he could remember it. He could remember everything …

"We both stood yesterday, on separate stages. There's no one stopping us from dancing together today."

"Mulder?" A more alarmed voice now. Scully disentangled herself from his limbs and sat on her ankles to face him. He snapped out of his oblivion, staring straight into her crystal blue eyes. She reached over to caress his rough cheek.

"You know what?" he pronounced slowly, unsure of what was running through his mind.

"What?"

"I... think we stumbled upon the perfect title and theme song for our movie!"

Scully let out a startled giggle, girly and childish in nature, and it quickly loosened him, too. This shitty situation was as absurd as it got and here he was, finding the perfect title for the movie. He laughed together with her, flying quilts and pillows, diving to envelop Scully in a big bear hug. She didn't resist, landing on top of him, her legs splayed on the edges of his torso. Still laughing, she bent down and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

It should take him by surprise, really, he just received his first kiss from Spunk, but it didn't. And he laughed even more, turning around so he could pin Scully and tickle her.

Shit, he was so fucking happy like this, like this with her.

And he had no idea why.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER EIGHTEEN/BOOK ONE**

* * *

**A/N:** In order to keep the whole story in one place, I'm continuing BOOK II in this same link and as CHAPTER NINETEEN and so on. Are we ready for that? (wink, wink) Thank you so much for your R&amp;Rs!


	22. Chapter Nineteen (Prologue)

**TITLE:** Spunk (BOOK II)

**AUTHOR:** Rain Garcia Chua (formerly "Agent Rain")

**RATING:** Most parts are PG-13. The NC-17 parts will be labeled as "sexually explicit."

**KEYWORDS:** Alternate Universe

**SPOILERS:** none, though you need to read the rest of BOOK I to get this part

**SUMMARY: **The deal from the very beginning was that they live with each other until the movie finished filming. The question is, how willing are they both to let each other go?

**DISCLAIMER:** Chris Carter owns them all, unfortunately. Let's see how well he treats them next year January. If not, us fanfic writers are always there to baby Mulder and Scully into their rightful place in the universe.

* * *

**CHAPTER NINETEEN:**

* * *

July 21, 1985

Dear Melissa,

When I was seven years old, Nana told me a story about Mother and her friend, Mr. Billy. Do you remember that story? I am not sure if Grandma or Grandpa has mentioned it to you before they passed, or if Nana mentioned it to you, but if not … here, I will tell you Mother's story. Don't tell Bill or Charles, please. Bill will be too affected, since I'm quite positive that he recollects some parts of the story, and Charles is too immature to understand.

Mother danced in school plays every school year. You know that we share the same passion, and with this passion, she felt alive. Everyone was attracted to Mother, because of her striking blue eyes that melted with the sunset, and the unusual red hair that came from our mysterious Irish background. Boys in her classes wanted to date her, while the girls were envious of her because of this popularity.

The school play auditions came, and as usual, Mother won the lead as the mystical Snow White. She had to wear this enormous black wig to hide her red hair, and tons of white powder to hide her freckles. Did you see some pictures of her during that play? I did; Nana showed me. She was so pretty, Melissa. I do believe that Mother is the most beautiful woman I have set my eyes on.

But, during the rehearsals, Mother broke her ankle and was ordered by the doctor for a month of bed rest. She was devastated. She wanted nothing more but to dance once again for her school, and there she was, lying on a hospital bed, awaiting treatment for her damned ankle.

It was there that she met Mr. Billy. According to Nana, he was a tall blonde man who had the same sprinkle of freckles on the tip of his nose – much like Mother and I. They conversed in the hospitals for long hours and Nana even spotted them holding hands on several nights. He encouraged Mother to get better so that she could still make it to the school play. Nana concluded it this way: she drew the strength to get better from Mr. Billy.

Mother miraculously was discharged from the hospital earlier than expected. She came back one night to see Billy - and for the first time during their conversations, she asked him why he stayed in the hospital all that time.

He told her that he was going to be fine, he was just a little nauseous every now and then and his parents insisted that stay in the hospital to abate their worry. Thus, Mother also had nothing to worry about.

She believed him with her whole heart. She even made him promise to watch her school play. The wonderful thing is that he even kept that promise.

They met after the school play, laughing and kidding with each other. Mother asked Nana if she could go with Mr. Billy, and Nana said she would cover for her. They stayed by the river where there were lilies everywhere. Mr. Billy pointed at the lilies and told Mother that she would remember him every time she sees them. Mother said that she would remember him all the time – flowers be damned. That was when they consummated their relationship.

You see … Mother and Mr. Billy were in love. They spent days cradled in each other's arms staring at the lilies, talking in hushed voices about their future together, and even their children. These were all confided to Nana. Mother and Mr. Billy wanted five children: two boys first and then three girls. I still remember the names they wanted.  
They would name them _Billy Jr._, _Charlie Don_ (Charles is Mother's favorite cousin, Don is Mr. Billy's favorite cousin), _Melissa Patricia_ (Melissa is from our Grandmother, Patricia is from Mr. Billy's mother), _Sally Jenna_ (Sally is from Nana's middle name, while Jenna is from Mr. Billy's grandmother) and then, Dana Katherine - Dana coming from their combined middle names: Mr. Billy Darius and Ms. Margaret Nadia, while Katherine is from the place where they watch the lilies - Katherine Street, now St. Peter's drive.

After two years, when Mother was seventeen years old, Mr. Billy and Mother were already discussing their plans for marriage to their families when he became gravely ill. The winter hastened his condition. Mr. Billy had been sick for quite some time, of course, but he didn't have the heart to tell Mother. She watched her first love die in her arms. This had left her heartbroken, forever.

Do you wonder sometimes, Missy – what if Mother had married Mr. Billy and what if Mr. Billy never died? What if you, Charles, and Bill were named different, and if we had that other sister, Sally? Would everything be different? Would you still be studying in a university? Would Bill still be in the royal army? Will Charles and I be better friends? Will I have been a better person?

Mother wrote the song "Danced Yesterday" for Mr. Billy when she was pregnant with me. I love that song. Nana said Mother used to sit by the fire at nights to strum at her guitar and sing the song with tears in her eyes. She never stopped loving Mr. Billy; it was impossible for her to unlove what she had promised forever to.

How does it feel to love and be loved in return, Missy? Actually, what I really want to ask is this: How do you know if you are indeed in love?  
How did you know that you wanted to marry Richard? Did you ever feel that he had wanted to leave you alone, despite your child? Did you ever truly love him, Missy?

I keep a picture of Mother in my wallet – I hate to say, underneath the Bruce Willis cutout I took from a magazine. It's the one Mr. Billy shot when she was only sixteen years old. She is wearing lilies in her hair and is looking at the camera with so much intensity, as if she was seeing through the lenses her future. She handed the photograph over to Nana, with strict instructions that I should be the only one to have it when I am old enough to understand what it meant to her.

I wonder if I truly do understand what it meant to her. Even if Nana had given me the photograph as a symbol of my maturity, I wonder if I truly am mature enough to handle the gravity of what it meant to love and be loved in return. There are a lot of things I don't understand about myself – I don't understand why I am the only one who looks so much like our Mother; why I am the only one with this name … why I was the one who had to go through with what I had to go through. I also don't understand why Mother gave me this cross necklace; it was another gift from Mr. Billy.

Maybe these incidents, these events, are there to remind me that there is strength behind my every blind step here in this foreign country. There is always someone out there looking out for me no matter how hard life has treated me in the past.

Give my love to Charles, Bill, your lovely baby, and to my darling, darling Nana.

_ Mama ydy 'm ffynnon chan chryfder._

Signed,  
Dana

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER NINETEEN**


	23. Chapter Twenty: WB Studios

**CHAPTER TWENTY:**

* * *

Studio 220  
Warner Brothers Studios  
Los Angeles  
July 29, 1985  
Monday

"Here's what I want you to do, Pendrell." Mulder tiredly moved towards the couch, breathing deeply before sitting down on it, long legs splayed before (what felt like) his tortured body. Pendrell, in his _Mr. DD_ (the crew's pet name for Pendrell's character) attire of winter boots and dark green bonnet, hovered on anxiously behind the director; his dark brown eyes lighting up with curiosity.

Mulder began to scratch his stomach, acting as if he was bored. Then little by little, he yawned, one finger pointing at the waiting camera a few meters from them to tell the actor that the yawn will be captured frame-by-frame. To further explain this, he continued, "We want the audience to capture your boredom - to capture your loneliness in your apartment." With the same finger, he pointed at Scully, who was currently clad in her 'house' clothes (a jumper with a polka- dotted undershirt). "Then she comes in, your eyes _brighten_, literally, Pendrell." Mulder blinked his own eyes widely, making Scully stifle a chuckle. Mulder turned to shoot her a smirk, which she ignored.

Returning to Pendrell, Mulder held a grin steadily. "There are supposed to be no words, okay? I want this to be as silent as possible, because in this pivotal scene, we're not going to use any musical background - one advantage for our musical director, Dan Snow, and yeah, harder for you two."

From his peripheral again, Scully crossed her arms, holding her skeptical gaze steady at Mulder, as if telling him face- to- face (or face- to- forehead), _yeah, right_.

It was his time to ignore her as he smirked at Pendrell. "I want you to be surprised when she comes to you. This is spontaneous. There are no warnings that Ms. Aida's about to fucking split your life into two. She comes to you," Mulder moved towards Scully, eyes still on his actor. He stood in front of her, gesturing at her position. "Walks towards you," this time, he took tiny steps towards the suddenly flushing young man, "on that couch, and she _devours _you."

"_Devour_?" Pendrell croaked, neck and face now instantly red.

Behind the large camera and lights, he saw Walter and Kersh, his director of photography, give each other knowing looks. This was another reaction that Mulder had to ignore. Really, literally ignore.

"Christ, Pendrell, you know that there are at least twenty pages of kissing scenes in this movie. Don't let this fuck you up." He cowered closer to him, massaging his temples.  
They had been shooting non- stop for ten hours and Mulder had been on his feet and awake throughout the whole night and up until this morning. He hadn't sat down in four hours, hadn't touched food for six hours, and hadn't drank anything other than energy drinks for five hours. Physical exertions on this project were already beating him square on the back, and it would only take one more screw-up on Pendrell's part (he had been screwing up the same scene for six successive takes now; he always had the tendency to flush whenever Scully entered the set). And these actors weren't the one who haven't had a decent amount of sleep for days now. It was _him_.

Walter stepped in at that moment, patting Pendrell in between his shoulder blades to stop the kid from worrying about Mulder. At the back of all this, Scully was also peering in, suddenly concerned about the director.

The bald producer squeezed Mulder's shoulder. "Give it a rest. You've been up more than anyone else in here. Kersh and I can process the Northern Texas location while you're resting."

"No, I want to finish this scene," he stubbornly replied, shaking his head to stop the painful ticking from developing into a major headache.

Walter leaned in so that no one else would hear. "This isn't a good scene to sleep to."

"Fuck you, Skinman. Don't tease me today." There was leer in his voice though, even if his words were contrary to his tone. He found it amusing that his crew found his relationship with Scully amusing, somewhat. They touched a lot during work, of course, that including meals together and talking to each other privately in Scully's dressing room or his office during breaks. They get kidded a lot about this, even if everyone's sure that nothing was going on between them.

Sometimes, he thought that he was the only one who saw the humor of the endless teasing from the crew. As expected, Pendrell didn't seem to like it flat out. Scully, well, he couldn't get any reaction from her on these kinds of issues. Typically.

"Mulder, Mr. Skinner's right." Abruptly, the sharp British accent was centimeters away from his ear. "You should rest. You look knackered." Aptly put. _Mr. Skinner_ was lifting his crooked nose triumphantly in the air. Anyone who was anybody in the _Danced Yesterday_ production knew of Scully's effect on him. He could never, ever resist her. For some weird and mysterious reason, he just couldn't.

She had some insight on this fact herself - and rather than scaring Mulder, it made him appreciate his weakness towards her even more. She only used these _powers_ of hers when it was strictly necessary. Better wardrobes ensembles for Ms. Aida were as selfish as she could get.

"Fine," Mulder surrendered, dropping his hands on his knees to stretch his back. "Tell Marita to announce a four-hour break, Walter. Tell me after those fucking four hours how the location goes."

Walter nodded, and then started barking his orders around the set. The crowd surrounding them dispersed, leaving him, Scully, and Pendrell on site.

Harry approached them cautiously, striding more to Scully's side. "Hey, you want to go and hang out with the others? See them practice their dance?"

Mulder kept himself on his knees, closing his eyes to stop himself from spitting a side-comment. The kid sounded too damn desperate.

Scully placed a hand on his lower back, "No thanks, Harry. I want to stay with Mulder."

The director lifted his torso up, accidentally brushing his nose against Pendrell's chest. He muttered a 'sorry' at the media baby, and turned to Scully. "Hey, I'm fine, I could take care of myself fine. You go on if you want."

He's a martyr – that was what he was. Actually, the truth of it was that he wanted Scully beside him when he _rested_ for this fucking four-hour break. She could distract him from dwelling too much on "Scene VII" with that amazing warmth of hers.

Her effects on him were overwhelming sometimes. During the night, when he had made sure that Scully was already asleep, he would think about the nature of their relationship and why it had gone this far in the short time that they have known each other. He would remember the equation he had been calculating with his ex- wife, Emily, and John … and how despite thinking about it almost every day, he still did not find any right equation for what he shared with Scully.

He'd make himself goddamn crazy if he continued that crap.

Scully, whose hand still lingered on his lower back, pressed her palm more firmly on his skin. This made her warmth linger all over his body like an electric shock. Mulder had to bite his lip to keep himself from dragging Scully into his office and snuggling up to her.

Shit. He forgot - they weren't lovers. They didn't even have feelings for each other.

Shit.

"I want to stay, Mulder." Ah, déjà vu. Trust Scully to turn his own words against him. Maybe that was the reason why she got along fine with Emily, who was her complete opposite. They both have the gift of making Mulder eat his own foot.

Pendrell shrugged his shoulders disappointedly, in no time leaving them alone.

"You really look like shit," she whispered, sliding an arm around his waist to guide him to his office. Since they have been spending long hours inside that particular studio, Walter had requested a temporary office to be set in one corner for Mulder. Inside the make-shift plywood were two rooms: one for his personal office and store-away bedroom; another as a meeting room.

He allowed his body to partially rest some of its weight on the Spunk. She was asking for it. "Thanks," he said, and despite his weight, Scully was able to snort her 'welcome.'

They maneuvered themselves to the office without toppling. When they entered his personal room, she practically shoved him on the bunker bed. Mulder groaned as the hard pillow hit a part on his back, but Scully was too busy squeezing off his rubber shoes to hear his complains.

Two thuds echoed on the cement floor, and then her fingers were on his checkered polo shirt.

"Hey, don't -" Mulder unwittingly snapped her hands away, only making Scully even more intent on removing his shirt.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" he growled, not even constituting in his own tired mind that Scully might be taking care of him. Well, she did mention that he was tired.

She rested her two palms on his breast bone, eyeing him sharply. "I'm trying to take your shirt of so that you can sleep, Superman. Stop trying to remove my hands…" She fumbled with his shirt again, but Mulder didn't let her. He gripped her wrists tight with his remaining strength and pulled her towards him.

Scully gasped as she landed on his front, her breath flush on his right cheek. Mulder snickered, wrapping his arms around her back. She tried to fight her way out of his entrapment, but considering his physical advantage over hers, well, she was forced to surrender. Momentarily, that was.

Mulder stuck his nose into her red hair. "Hey, _now_ I can sleep."

"Very funny, Mulder." Her words were meant to be taken as sharp as her look, but it came out as a half-sigh instead. Mulder was well aware of the fact that Scully was also susceptible to his body warmth. It was another contemplation to add in his book of Spunk equations.

And the last thing he wanted for his four hour sleeping break was a Spunk cleaning up his office. He wanted it to stay as messy as it was - with the sunflower seeds husks on the floor and the teddy-bear that he gave Scully back in Las Vegas tossed messily on his desk (she insisted on bringing it to his office, telling him that it would add more décor… minus the fact that they were almost practically sharing the damn space and that she seemed to have made that teddy bear her second fascination after the lilies). He was afraid that when he woke up, the spot would be sparkling clean.

She once attempted it. Thank God he was going to use the make-shift lavatory when she was scooping his sunflower seeds into the trash can.

The only way to prevent her from doing that was inviting her to his bed.

Did that sound crass?

Mulder sniffed Scully's thickly hair-sprayed coiffure, coughing slightly at the fumes it still emitted.

Rephrasing: The only way to prevent her from cleaning his shitty office was to get her to sleep. Where else? Of course beside him. Duh.

He was almost into dozing off when Scully shifted against his body. She propped herself up using her elbows on the single-person mattress and brushed her lips against his forehead. He smiled sleepily at the sensation of her kiss.

"Thank God I've locked the door," she toned down. "Look, Mulder, I'm going to wash my hair and make-up off while you sleep. I'll set the alarm for you."

Rather than letting her go, he wrapped his arms around her tightly, pinning her to his body. He needed _her_ to get that quality sleep.

"No… shtay… please… you'll… clean the fuck… room. Stay and slee…p with me."

"Mulderr…" she whined, and through his half- closed eyelids, he could see her roll her eyes.

"Please? You were… were the one who convinced me… that this was…. necessary…" He yawned again, right into her shoulder. He detected a shiver from her spine, but he probably only imagined it.

Scully relented. "Fine. Let's make a deal. You'll stay awake until I'm done washing and then we sleep. Is that good?"

"Good."

His hands dropped to his sides and she left him. After a second he heard the drop of the lavatory's lock, then the relaxing sounds of water.

To keep himself awake, he sat up straight on the bed, gluing his back on the hard wall. His head was pounding as fast as his heart, the pain increasing every minute, but he knew that having Scully in his arms would be worth it. He could sleep better that way.

He didn't have to wait long before Scully exited the lavatory, a towel wrapped around her hair and her face still glistening with water. Mulder watched her as she combed her hair, wiped her face, picked up some stray sunflower seeds, straightened the teddy-bear on his desk, removed her over- sized denim jumper (the costume department will be very disappointed that their prop was partially wet), revealing cotton shorts and her polka dotted shirt - with her midriff peaking. His brain didn't process much of that, because Scully was already on his side, her face on his face, her freckles visible this time. It reminded him about something good as she pulled him down to her side and he slept on the crook of her arm, his head using her breasts partially as his pillow.  
Thank God, too, that he was too tired to even get worried about that.

She smelled too good, too clean despite the long hours they were working on the set… and when her fingers sifted through his coarse hair (another consequence of those laborious ten hours), it felt more than heavenly.

He seriously could get used to this.

Mulder waited until Scully's own breathing relaxed into a steady rhythm before he practically buried his face into her shoulder, his mouth dangerously close to her left breast. This seemed to take some of her attention as she shifted to move her bosom away from him, but when his free arm wrapped around her waist, he knew that there was nothing else to worry about. Her breathing slowed down.

He thought she was already asleep, but her voice wafted through the close-quartered cell. "Mulder, have you… ever been in love after Diana?"

That was a strange question. And he didn't try to think about it. So he answered without thinking. "No. There was no such _love _in our marriage. I kind of gave up after… Diana."

"How could you have endured those years if you didn't love her?"

Mulder chuckled. "Emily. All for Emily…. when you get a kid, you'll know what I mean."

"How about before Diana?"

Before Diana were all child's play. A fifth grade crush on a girl named Megan. His first girlfriend: Cindy and their heavy petting inside the abandoned science laboratory after school hours. It was puppy love with sex – not even making love, just sex. He stayed with her for three years until he went to Harvard… then there was Janice and that quirky relationship. After that was another lady that's so unmentionable he's not going to mention what's her name and how she came into his life. And then… Diana.

He was not telling her that technically he hadn't really fallen in love.

He couldn't say whether he's adding a "yet" or "ever" in that sentence.

"Umm, there was this one girl I had an affair with."

"What's her name?"

"Phoebe. Phoebe… I forgot her last name. She… came in when I was in Harvard, presently a few months married to a very pregnant Diana."

Silence met his revelation. It came to him that Scully was pretty shocked that he even dared to do something as mundane as having an affair behind his pregnant wife's back. It didn't seem important at that time, since the marriage was more for convenience rather than love, but Scully saw him differently.

It paid to alter people's beliefs, sometimes.

He set on when she still kept silent, only her fingers in his hair moving. "The last time Diana and I had se… made love was under the influence of MJs, and she didn't want me touching her when she was pregnant… and I didn't want to touch her either, so here was Phoebe and she let me in on what I am missing in my married life."

"Did you love her?"

"Love? I don't know. I'm not sure," he admitted.

Phoebe gave him the most incredible sex of his limited experience, but he doubted that there was any real love in it other than infatuation. He adored Phoebe because she was not Diana. Phoebe adored him because he adored her. Scully should do the math.

"When did your affair end?"

"Emily was born three months after I met Phoebe. One look at my daughter, and I was smitten. I ended our relationship the same day."

A sound of relief came from Scully. Maybe he didn't really alter her beliefs that much. He's still _super Father_ to her.

Long moments passed, and Mulder returned the question to Scully.

"Have YOU ever been in love?"

A laugh.

That was her initial answer. Then she cleared her throat. He didn't know if it was in disappointment or contemporary recollection.

"I think so, yes."

"When?"

"Not long ago." The fingers in his hair went down to cup the back of his neck. She turned his head to her lips so that she could kiss the tip of his oversized nose. "Go to sleep, Mulder. You only have three hours and thirty-six minutes to go."

He nodded, brushing his cheek against her arm's porcelain skin, and within minutes he surrendered to the a darkness made up of Scully's scent, falling in love, teddy bears, sunflower seeds… and lilies suspended all over a crystalline pond.

* * *

Mulder was sitting on the damp grass again, the place strangely familiar from a previous dream. He knew he was dreaming - through the way the pond slowly lifted and retracted the blanket of yellow lilies atop it, while the simmering breeze occasionally reached down to pluck one flower up. He watched this in awe, but didn't do anything about it.

Birds were singing somewhere up ahead of him and he heard footsteps drawing near to his form.

"This place is beautiful, isn't it?"

Without turning his head, Mulder continued to look at the pond; mesmerized by the lilies. "Is this where you fell in love? Is this how you told me that you fell in love _not long ago_?"

Scully sat down beside him, curling her legs close to her chest. She was wearing a wispy white dress that flowed to her south; when the wind hit their bodies, her hair also swayed like ribbons of molasses behind her.

He wanted to look at her, to take her in with his eyes, to see her beauty, but he was afraid that if he did, she would suddenly disappear like the last time.

"I fell in love with life, Mulder," she said, crossing her ankles together. He nodded, even if he didn't really understand what she meant.

"Are you leaving me again?"

She turned to him, eyes telling him that she was shocked by his idea. "I didn't leave you the last time."

"Then what did you do? Disappeared into thin air? _Poof_?" He still missed her eyes, still afraid to look, hoping that the advent of humor in his statement would make up for his fear.

"You wanted me to go. You told me that…" she drifted off, noticing suddenly his hesitation to look at her. She anchored a finger under his chin and willed him to look at her directly in the eye. Did he seriously think Scully would ignore his indifference for so long?

When he did comply, he found something in them that was different from the thousands of times he had looked into Scully's eyes.

Different…

"Why are you doing this to me?" he gasped, pulling his head away.

No. It couldn't be.

"I am not doing this. _You_ are."

That was the last coherent word that came out of her mouth when Scully's lips descended on his. He resisted her, pushing her shoulders away in anguish, not wanting to believe the possibility. She was his best friend! How could this happen between them? What they were to each other was too precious to complicate …

Her tongue entered his lips, little by little, and he surrendered with a moan, opening his mouth wide to receive her. _Too good_, his mind chanted smugly, _too good_. There she was - on his teeth, on the ceiling of his mouth, and then on his own tongue… dancing, sweet like strawberries, heavenly…

_Don't stop._

* * *

Mulder opened his eyes, his breathing ragged. There were several large dots clouding his vision, and he remembered where he was sleeping.

Much to his chagrin, his face was directly on Scully's round breasts, and the hand that was wrapped around her waist was stroking the tender flesh on her back. In his sleep, he had managed to squeeze his fingers into her shirt and those fucking fingers were now stroking her bra's clasp.

Not to mention his fucking raging erection right now.

Oh shoot, he better stop saying the f - frigging _F_ word before…

He checked on Scully, found her asleep with a tiny smile dancing on her lips. Fortunately, she was - or else he would've been embarrassed beyond his mind if she was awake and she saw his state.

Slowly, like a cat on a tin roof, he removed his hand from her shirt, lifted his head from her chest, and crept out of the bunker bed as sleekly as possible. His erection was hovering dangerously near Scully's inner thigh (more matters to be worried about!) and he was using every bit of precaution to keep it from brushing against her legs.

Successfully done, Mulder shuffled towards the lavatory and locked the door.

The sink had a circular mirror attached to it, and that was where he found himself. He speckled his face with cold water until a circular wet spot started to appear on his chest. He continued wetting himself, his hair, his arms, cleaning himself of that fucking dream, cleaning himself of the thoughts…

He gazed at his reflection in the mirror. His chocolate brown hair were disorderly stuck to his forehead like wet paint brushes, his hazel eyes dilated, his eye bags painfully visible, lips parted and slick with his own saliva or the water.

He DID look like shit.

Another splash of water.

He looked again.

Still shit.

Another splash, this time spilling puddles onto the floor.

He looked again. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Mulder braced his hands on the wall before him, staring at his reflection, hazel-eye-to-hazel-eye.

"You aren't feeling this, you asshole. Goddamn you, you aren't feeling this."

No, he was not in love with Scully. He SHOULD not be.

Fucking shit.

Mulder splashed himself again, a strange ticking in his brain asking him if he would ever stop.

* * *

His arms were crossed as he watched Pendrell and Scully perform their first kissing scene. He hoped to God that this was their last take. There was a strange pounding in his hollow rib cage that seemed to emanate every time Scully sat down beside Harry and literally _devoured_ him. Her lips crashed onto her co-star's and even if Pendrell's supposed to act surprised, his red cheeks tell Mulder that the man's delighted to be doing this.

Through his suggestion, the two had to show more tongue onscreen; at the same time, they had to also still their breathing so that it would look good on camera.

Scully moved her head to one side, deepening their kiss. Pendrell followed her movement, and in the script, he was supposed to smile through their kiss. The young man did as it said, holding her by her neck and crushing her against his body.

_Cut._ His inner self scolded. _Cut the fucking scene._

Not yet. They needed at least thirty seconds of kissing on film.

Nonchalantly, Mulder stared down at his watch and silently swallowed when he saw that the thirty seconds were up.

"Cut!" he bellowed.

Scully divested her lips from Pendrell's with a pop that echoed in Mulder's brain. The director swore that he could hear a whimper from the young man's throat.

She ran towards the far end of the set, meeting with Marita. The blonde woman handed Scully a glass of water, and she drank it, sullenly finishing every drop.

Harry Pendrell must be some kisser. But God, he knew instinctively that Scully was even better.

Mulder bit the insides of his cheek. _Dangerous thoughts, man. Dangerous._ He shouldn't think about these things while he was on set. Or anywhere else near Scully.

"Love that scene," Mulder told Kersh, who was standing beside him. The DP agreed, leaving him momentarily alone to talk to the camera man. After a nanosecond, he returned.

"We are doing that one in. Do you want to take another break or continue on with the next scene?" The hoarse scrape of the man's vocal chords jerked Mulder from his thoughts.

Kersh had a low gruff voice that always called for attention wherever he went. Now that John was still unavailable to be Assistant Director (he will be in October), Kersh graciously offered to be second-in-command. The tall black man was a great predecessor to John: he could tame Mulder and Walter when the two couldn't quit bickering.

"What time is it?" Mulder asked, weighing the options.

"Six AM. Walter's around the corner, dozing. He said that you can have the decision on whether we'll continue or not."

"Are the crew exhausted?" He considered the others' conditions than his, since if they asked him flat-out, he would keep on going until the movie's finished. That was not possible in the real world, but in Fox Mulder's world, it was. Very.

"They've been up for two hours since the four-hour break. I think they'd like to have some coffee. Why don't you go home and we'll meet tomorrow afternoon around four PM? That's the next one on the schedule."

"Sure," he said, a little too quickly for _Mr. Superman_. Kersh gave him a lopsided worried reaction that said how unusual it was for Mulder to refuse an offer to continue, but the DP let this one pass.

No more words were needed to be said as his DP went on to give this new announcement to his crew. Some cheered cautiously, making sure that Mulder didn't hear their enthusiasm.

Fine, so he understood that he was working them off like Egyptian Slaves - building an imaginary pyramid with cameras, lights, and action - but he couldn't really help himself. They've worked with him for years now; they should've seen this coming even before they were assigned to this project.

He strode out of the set, his mind a fine mess, thanks to the production, his current problems, and the incessant deafening beat of his fucking heart.

Home. He wanted to go home. He would sink himself into a warm bubble bath and stay in there for hours. After that, he'd ask Jenny to bring him that chilled _Chardonnay _he had been keeping in the refrigerator and a plate of sunflower seeds. He would put on his Frank Sinatra record and he would doze off with the pure ecstasy of filtering sounds and wine.

Home. He was going home. He had to clear his mind; He needed to be fresh for this afternoon's shooting.

"Mulder?"

God. He moved a few steps away from the damned set and _she_ had to follow him.

He whirled around to face her, his fury out in the open. Scully was surprised by the unusual rage in his eyes, but she dismissed it easily to the fact that Mulder had been on his feet for hours - and the three-hour nap he had with her wasn't enough to recuperate his exhaustion.

"Are we going home?"

Oh, yeah, he recalled. He LIVED with Scully.

Fuck.

"Why don't you let Marita drive you home, huh? I think I want to do something else before I go back to the Manor," he snapped, jumbling the sentences up. Scully's eyebrows crinkled; she opened her mouth to say something, but quickly closed them when Marita approached them. His blonde assistant, a good three inches higher than Scully, placed an arm around the redhead and drew her away from him.

Within his earshot, he heard Marita whisper to Scully: "Mr. Mulder's tired, Dana. Why don't I drive you home?"

Scully let herself be led away like a girl who all too commonly appeared in cliché family movies. The little girl who wanted to see Daddy but Daddy was too busy and angry over life to attend to his baby.

Mulder ran a hand over his coarse hair, shifting his knuckles over the hardened strands.

_He_ was too angry with _her_ because he was feeling this way. And he didn't know what he was going to do about it.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER TWENTY**


	24. Chapter Twenty One: Ice Cream Parlor

**CHAPTER TWENTY ONE**

* * *

Butterfly Ice Cream Parlor  
Los Angeles  
July 30, 1985  
Tuesday

Emily was glowing today.

Mulder smiled at the idea, feeling genuinely happy that his daughter's marriage had done more wonders than his own did for him. He's glad that she married the man she loved; that she experienced falling in love and being equally loved in return.

God. He was sounding like a bad romantic novel.

She straightened the banana clip that pinned the thick brunette hair away from her face. She noticed her father watching, so she stuck out her tongue playfully while digging her spoon back into her chocolate-chip sundae.

Mulder held onto his amused face until Emily pointed at his own strawberry swirl sundae. He grinned, combing the top of the scrumptious treat with his spoon, licking at the sprinkles first before tasting the ice cream.

"I swear, Dad," Emily said, her voice dampened by the remainders of the ice cream, "that when you eat ice cream, you're worse than a ten-year-old kid."

His daughter's musings weren't far from what Scully had been telling him. Spunk always scolded him for acting so unlike his age. She once told him that sometimes it was fun to have an adult act so young, but when he got messy and downright immature, it curled her blood to boiling point.

He smiled at the memory.

After another bite, Emily launched onto the details of her honeymoon with Jeff (the MAIN details, thank god). They spent the whole month of June in Hawaii: enjoying the prickly heat of the sun, laughing at each other as they gobbled up fresh coconuts, stumbling into the ocean as they learned to surf, and bickered on what to get when they shopped for their family. Emily handed him a plastic bag when they met in the Ice Cream Parlor, supposedly containing gifts from Hawaii. He's the big Summer Santa now: he had to hand presents for Dana, John and Monica's baby girl, Walter, and the three stooges.

When that was done, they were already half into their ice cream sundaes. Emily pointed a chocolate-coated spoon in his direction.

"What about you, Dad? How are you doing? How's Dana?"

Change the subject, please.

Mulder shifted in his seat, squirming until he felt that the blood that threatened a very obvious flush on his face calm down.

"Were fine; we've been getting along quite nicely for the past month."

"You've kissed and made up?" Emily joked, and he almost choked on the fresh strawberry bit embedded within the cream.

"Don't humor me, Honey."

"I'm not humoring you!" She winked at his direction, devaluing her statement. She licked her spoon off happily while Mulder breathed a sigh in relief. At least his daughter didn't mention anything about the sudden telltale redness on his neck.

"Dad, I have to tell you something important, by the way."

"How important? Should I put my spoon down? Should I drink some water first?"

Emily smiled, and it was her turn to blush. "All of the above."

It was a big one, Mulder knew by the twinkling of his daughter's eyes. Being the good father that he was, he finished his sundae faster than Emily could say "above," took a swig of lukewarm water, and intertwined his fingers in front of him.

Emily snorted her approval.

This snorting suddenly turned into ecstatic giggling, and Mulder swore BY all the gods and goddesses he learned in junior high that Emily glowed even more when she laughed.

"Oh, Daddy… I'm pregnant!"

Mulder stared at Emily, passive.

"Daddy, I'm pregnant. You know, after nine months you're going to have your first grandchild!"

Oh, Jesus Christ.

"What?" Mulder wanted to clear, his view suddenly fuzzy. Emily started sprouting seven heads, and they all giggled back at his shock.

"I'm pregnant! I didn't know until last week … I went to a doctor in Hawaii, and he confirmed it. Jeff's so happy, I mean, I'm ecstatic, Daddy! I'm going to have a baby!"

"Baby?"

"Oh, Daddy." Emily drew forward and placed a hand atop his on the table. She squeezed his clammy fingers tight. "This probably comes as a shock for you -"

_Oh._ Baby. Emily's pregnant. His precious, darling little Emily. She's pregnant.

Jesus H. Christ. He suddenly felt the urge to pray to a god he didn't believe in. What was that Catholic prayer he learned from his former girlfriend back in the day?

"Emily," Mulder started, gathering most of his breathing. The room was suddenly becoming claustrophobic. "I'm happ… happy for you, Hon."

"Thank you, Dad. I knew you would be." She stood up from her side of the table and hugged Mulder ferociously. He reflexively drew her in, his reflexes on the go. However, his brain was still muddled beyond frigging belief. His own daughter's pregnant? How was he going to react to THAT exactly? He wasn't through his own love life – he still wished to settle down eventually, of course; then, he was having problems of his own with the woman he _wanted_ to settle down with because damn it, she couldn't know about how he felt for her; and now … he was going to be a grandfather?

He remembered it now: Hail Mary… Full of…

Emily tugged away from him, and he did too. They once again sat opposite each other, with Emily trying to contain the smiles on her face while Mulder tried to force more smiles on his own. Go figure the damn thing out.

"Dad, there's something else, too."

Enough. Please.

Mulder stopped projecting his happy image and rubbed his temples. "What's that, Em?"

Her face also lost its happiness, and the mood shifted to serious. "Aunt Sam wrote to me in Hawaii. It seems like she's there, Dad. She's been there after all."

Mulder clenched his teeth. He didn't care wherever part of the world Samantha landed in. "Honey, I don't think we should talk about…"

"Sh- She wants to see Grandma, Daddy. And you. And me and Jeff." Emily placed her two hands on her stomach, crossing them to hug herself. "I wanted to meet her somewhere in Hawaii, but I didn't want you to be angry at me."

"How did she find out about your honeymoon there?"

Emily blushed again, this time of embarrassment. "I write her once every year, remember? I still did, before my wedding. It was the first time she replied."

"Emily, please." Mulder resisted the overwhelming urge to pound his fists on the table. No need to create a scene in a public place. "I don't want you to have anything to do with your Aunt Sam. I told you about her violent past before - she's a _dangerous_ woman, and I'm stressing that flat out. She got your Grandpa killed, and she almost got us killed!"

"Dad," she tried, but Mulder shook his head firmly no.

End of conversation.

Alleluia Amen.

* * *

August started with a reasonable bang: heavy rains filled the streets of Los Angeles, pattering over the rooftop during the solemn evenings, disrupting the comfortable silence of the neighborhood when twilight came. Even the yuppies who were usually out partying during midnight were stuck at home, mumbling _Depeche Mode_ songs incoherently as they waited for the weather to even out. Everyone knew that it wasn't a good idea to drive out in the midnight rain.

Save for some as crazy as hell who actually dared.

Mulder was wide awake on his king-sized bed, staring deftly at the drifting shapes on the bare ceiling. At the corner of his ear, he heard a zooming car whiz by, followed by police sirens. He sneered in the dark, as memories of his drunk driving encounters back in Harvard knocked on his door. He was a mad man back then, one of those crazy-as-hell youngsters who would charge out in the roaring typhoon while riding his Harley. Doggett would also get on his own motorcycle, while Kryceck would protest their stupidity. They'd shrug him off with a swig of beer or two and headed off into the rain without any helmets.

Cost them good, one time. The storm was a certified cyclone and Mulder's motorcycle skidded right into a ditch. Seven stitches on his scalp were his trophy.

He felt for the former wound, remembering more idiosyncrasies as he smirked. Those were the good old days. If he wasn't just too busy with work lately, he'll still do it - without the helmet - all over again. Nothing else could match the adrenaline.

There was a soft rasp on his open door, despite having left it open if ever Scully needed him throughout the night. Mulder lifted his head from the pillow, finding the redhead Spunk standing at the frame. Her hair was combed neatly onto one side of her shoulder, the cotton robe shrugged on over the silky Teflon pajamas she always wore to sleep.

He quickly processed what was going on - and what was going to happen. Scully's bothered by the damn rain, and now she's here to ask for her share on his bed. No, not this time. Mulder stiffened as she shuffled towards him, her robe trailing behind her from the air conditioning's lukewarm gusts. Not this time. He couldn't do this anymore. He didn't want anything else but a clear head tonight.

"Scully," he heaved out, straining to prop himself up using his elbows.

To his remark, she paused in the middle of the room. Then, her voice filled the stagnant air. "You're awake?"

What did she expect? Her presence was too overwhelming for him. Even if he was asleep, he'd wake up if she was at the opposite end of his door.

He chose not to answer her question. "What are you doing, Scully?"

She started walking again, until she reached the foot of his bed. When she sat down an inch, he sat up in turn, watching her movements with panic.

It had been days since they last slept on one bed together - actually, the last time they slept together in one bed was back in the studio, when he had that fucking dream. That fucking shitty _revealing_ dream. After that, he didn't want to do anything with Scully. Whenever she got nightmares, he would still be there, but only until she was calm. He wouldn't linger in her room anymore; he wouldn't even hold her hand until he himself fell asleep on the chair like he used to.

He had been angry with her, too. He would snap at her when she's asking for something, would shove her away when she would try to offer her help in any household chore, and oftentimes within one whole day, he would only bark three words at her. He half-expected the Spunk to smack him right on the kisser one time, but she had been incredibly patient with his attitude.

As if she had an insight on what he was feeling.

No. She'd never understand how he felt. There was only "need" attached to his moniker in her dictionary.

In his, there were a million things tagged to the name "Dana Scully."

And that's what he was afraid of.

"Can I sleep here? I don't really like storms." Scully-girl. That's who she had been while he had been pushing her away. He kind of wished that she'd slap him dead on the cheek so that he could somehow hate her with intensity. His hate for her was all on false pretences, no real fire - ignited only from his decapitating fear.

Mulder studied her face closely, watching how her eyes glittered from the successive lightning. "Scully, I don't think that's a great idea. Why don't you sleep on the bed and I can sleep on the floor?"

"I want to sleep beside... you. Please," she pushed, licking her lips worriedly.

Mulder controlled himself from groaning. God. She's too beautiful when she did that.

"What if I stay with you in your room until you fall asleep, huh? How's that sound?" Keep pitching until she couldn't hit any more balls. Keep pitching until he tired her out. That's how this should be. This was how the ballgame should work.

She drifted her eyes from him when he saw it waver like a melting candle.

"Mulder," Scully played with the loose ends of her robe, scratching at the fur. "Could you at least tell me why?" More scratching on the threads. "You've been mad at me the past days. Could you at least tell me why you so? I can't decipher this on my own."

Trust Spunk to read him perfectly. When her eyes wavered, it meant that she saw something wrong.

Resisting to answer, Mulder forced himself to watch her hands play with her robe. If the hitter still persisted hitting the lightning speed balls - let her hit ghost balls instead.

"If I've done something wrong, let me correct it. I can't live with you every day if you treat me like … you treat me … you treat me as I have treated you back…" She didn't continue it, dropping her hands on the bed.

He pieced it together in his mind:

He was treating her as she had treated him after Las Vegas. After he had kissed her.

That hit something in him and he had to speak up.

"No, Scully. I have a lot on my mind lately. I'm sorry." It was too quick for a heartfelt apology, but judging from the relief in the way she shrugged her shoulders, it was enough for now.

He had to prove it to her - that he still was her friend, her great protector, her Superman - so he threw the blankets open and welcomed her to his bed.

Scully removed her robe, folding it neatly on the foot of the bed, kicked off her slippers, and crawled to him on the bed. She laid back on her side, her face away from him, and he was thankful for that. At least he could stop worrying about her reading his emotions. The only thing he had to worry about tonight was the persistent part of his anatomy.

He made sure that there was a pillow covering his pelvis before molding his upper torso to her back. Scully sighed contentedly, further pushing towards him and grabbing his arm to snake it around her waist. Mulder closed his eyes in the sheer rapture of feeling her warmth against him, of surrendering to something he hadn't ever felt before in his life.

Protesting his thought, the heavens themselves darted a lightning that crackled offensively in his ear. Mulder snapped himself from the bliss he was feeling, willing himself to stay awake. He couldn't sleep beside her tonight. No, not tonight. Not ever again.

To further assure her - and to please himself too - Mulder kissed the side of her cheek slowly, prolonging the pleasurable feel of her soft skin on his lips.  
An image in his subconscious flashed, particularly the one wherein he was kissing Scully in front of that pond filled with yellow lilies.

This made him end his kiss.

He laid there for long minutes, wide awake, listening to her ragged breathing slow down evenly, her arm over his sliding down towards the mattress. He listened to her womanly sounds, loving each one of them, hoping that he could drink them in through his mouth - each syllable, each drop, each gurgle.

She was too beautiful. Too beautiful for what he was feeling and too beautiful for him.

When he was sure that Scully was already asleep, Mulder gently slipped out of the bed. He glanced at her once in a while to make sure that she was still in Lala Land before proceeding towards the bathroom, where he needed to take a cold, really cold, shower to shut his libido up.

Then he'd set a makeshift bed on the floor and sleep there.

* * *

Morning had started bad enough for Mulder. His back ached from not padding the floor enough, Scully woke him up to tell him that Byers was downstairs waiting for him - and even if she was courteous enough not to mention what he had done (or prevented, in his own secret opinion), he could see pained confusion in her eyes. Yes, all in the life of Mr. Fox Mulder, Superman extraordinaire.

And since his friend had been waiting for a dead total of thirty minutes for him already, he didn't have time to shampoo his hair - which didn't really matter, the hot water was more cold than hot - or shave the one day growth stubble.

_Yipee. _

Byers offered to use his car and to drive for his pissed off friend that day. The tie-and-suit man was waiting for him at the wheel when Mulder bounded out of the house, fighting against the cascading winds from the still very active storm plaguing LA.

He hopped into the passenger seat, closing the umbrella in one swoop, also wetting himself and Byers partially with his action.

"Shit," he cursed, tossing the umbrella to the back of the car. He winced when he saw where his umbrella landed. Byers and the rest of the stooges weren't the kind who cared for their car's upholstery. Underneath the black leather seats were remains of nachos, tortillas, and _Whopper_ burger wrappers.

Mulder wasn't the kind who was clean himself when it came to these things, but he prided himself in keeping his car spick and span. Made him wonder sometimes how he was able to sit through almost three hours of traffic with these guys when he would hitch a ride with them towards a party. Ah, maybe the shots of brandy at home helped back then.

"Yeah, _shit,"_ Byers deadpanned, backing the car from his driveway. "You look like shit, Mulder."

Wasn't that the line of the month?

"Thanks." And wasn't that his answer of the month?

"No, really, Mulder." The car skidded to a stop, and then charged onto the raging storm, towards the mall. "You look - and I'm sure that you feel - like shit, too."

Mulder braced himself by rolling his eyes and biting his lip. There it was.

_One._

"You know, I've noticed something back at your …"

_Two._

"House. Something about …"

_Three._

"Spunk."

Bingo!

"What about _Spunk_?"

The nickname 'Spunk' was almost foreign to his tongue. He promised to Scully months ago that he'd never call her Spunk, and since he spent his time with her all 24/7, there wasn't an opportunity that he got to use that nick to call her or describe her.

He didn't want his balls tied behind his waist, mind you.

"She seems troubled. She was tense when she went down to meet me, as if she was shocked by something."

Mulder cringed. Scully obviously took her time to calm herself before waking him up. No wonder Byers waited thirty minutes for him.

"Did she sleep with you again?" Byers retorted, braking as light traffic met them on the boulevard. He mumbled something under his breath while waiting for Mulder's answer.

From the time when he and Scully had been sharing one bed almost once or twice a month, Mulder had to get an outlet for this weird relationship. Since Byers was the person next to Scully who could read him well, he had told the soft- spoken man everything. From her nightmares to her constant need of his physical presence. To make sure that Scully wouldn't get offended, he had sworn his friend to secrecy.

There was no initial diagnosis for his problem then, but currently, Mulder knew that there will be something to diagnose soon. He could actually make the diagnosis himself, but he wasn't even really sure if he was feeling what he was feeling.

"Yeah. She came to the room last night. Storms scare her. And… you know, I just wasn't up to it."

"_Up _to it?" The tone was incredulous. Mulder couldn't blame him. Anyone who resisted to share a bed with a woman as beautiful as Scully would be legally insane in at least thirty states.

"Fuck, how do I say this? I feel like I'm relieving a bad dream or something … but I slept down on the floor."

"Floor?" Much more incredulous.

Was that really hard to believe? That he actually resisted Scully?

"Yeah, floor. I think she wasn't happy about that."

Byers shook his head disapprovingly, reminding Mulder of his own father's reaction when he confessed that he believed Samantha was involved with a powerful drug syndicate.

"C'mon, Mulder. Wake up! NOT happy? I'd say she was insulted. You know how she feels for you."

The traffic lightened and they began to move at a steady pace.

Mulder clenched a fist where Byers couldn't see it, controlling his emotions. "No, I don't know how she feels for me. You see who we are to each other, Byers. You see that we're not exactly bordering friendship and …" he paused to catch his breath. The hitch in his statement made Byers slow his driving down. "Hey, tell me about Susanne."

The words had their desired effect. Mulder couldn't help his obvious delight when the car almost hit a truck that was aimlessly passing by. Byers cursed out loud, beeping incessantly at the innocent truck. He cut through the vehicle, and as they passed by the driver, he gave them a piece of his own thoughts.

"Fuck you bastard!" the driver shouted, with his middle finger raised up.

Mulder still kept chuckling, to the annoyance of his comrade. Byers accelerated the car to a close 60 when the traffic lightened, and they found themselves on Sunset Boulevard.

"That's back at you, man." Byers' voice was shaking as he slowed the car down to a reasonable speed.

Mulder bit the inner sides of his cheeks to stop himself from bursting out. Whenever he made one of his uptight friends lose all it, that's major entertainment for Fox Mulder.

"C'mon, Byers, tell me about Susanne."

"What about Susanne?"

"Why did you ask her to marry you?"

"Which part, Mulder?" The brown- haired man was getting intolerant now. He ran a hand through his dry hair, obviously annoyed. Mulder had admitted that he acted like a child sometimes, but this was serious stuff. He did want to know about Susanne.

"Which part of 'marry me' do you want to hear about? The part where she dumped me or the part where I was sobbing like a fucking hic?"

"All of 'em. C'mon, tell me. You're one of my closest friends and you've never told me anything about Susanne. You still love her; I know you do. Why? Why love her like that?"

"What is this? An ambush? Are you absurd, Mulder?"

"Tell me. I want to know."

"Fine," Byers said, too quickly - too compliant even for the usually reserved man. Even Mulder was surprised by his agreement.

* * *

John Byers met Susanne Modeski way back time, even before Mulder was friends with the three guys - even before Byers himself was friends with the Kung-fu heroes.

Byers had a hidden passion for clubbing. He used to go through downtown New York for a fix: he danced until morning came, and ate, slept, got drunk clubbing. That was all his life was about back then. He earned some money as a DJ himself, working part time in a club called "_The Magic Bullet."_ That was his salvation: music, dancing, and drinks.  
Susanne came out of the blue. He was happily squishing some tapes into the jukebox when she came up to him. She had short-cropped blonde hair that hugged the thin frame of her face, the "I'm your sexy Mama" attitude going on, and her body's nothing to faint at. She immediately caught his eye, and she later on admitted that she had been interested in him, too.  
But for the night, she only requested a song, pressed a flirty kiss on Byers' cheek, and proceeded to dance the night away.

They met week after week, but not until they have known each other for a month did they decide to try dating. So they dated, one thing led to another and then poof! They were living in.

That was the part when Mulder decided that he should interject. "Moved in? You actually lived in with Susanne?"

The story started when they were in the car and it seemed that it wouldn't end right there in the mall. Byers had always been crudely detailed when he told stories. The two men shoved the Cindy Lauper teenage fans aside with their elbows as they proceeded towards the second floor.

Mulder silently thanked the heavens when he realized that Byers wasn't as detailed about his sex life with Susanne. The director wouldn't want to hear about that. Not now.

"Yeah, I lived in with her. We were together for three years. Then we moved to Los Angeles." Byers had a knowing grin on his lips, and Mulder remembered. When the man moved into Los Angeles, that was when they met. But Mulder never knew Susanne -

"She didn't come with me. She visited me once every week, when we guys don't hang out in the clubs. Specifically, every Saturday. Susanne never liked LA. She told me that she was always a New Yorker… she lived on the streets until she got a stable job -"

"Yeah," Mulder cut off. He didn't want to know what Susanne's job was. Though he had a good idea.

They turned a sharp right towards a jewelry shop. There were too many people jam packed in the rectangular space, so they hung outside the shop first, resting their bodies on the concrete wall.

A trail of questions passed through Mulder's brain, and the director had to raise his eyebrows to stop them from bursting out on his tongue. He had to take it easy. The subject was a sensitive one for his friend. He didn't want Byers to burst an artery somewhere.

"If you knew that LA would be the cause of your breakup… then why bother? Why bother moving here?"

"I don't know, Mulder." Byers loosened the tie around his neck, almost undoing the knot until his chest. "I never thought it was LA."

"Then what was it?"

"I thought she was seeing another guy."

Ouch. Mulder didn't know how to react to that one. The depth of Byers' love for Susanne had surpassed a lot of things … and sometimes, he himself had to wonder why Byers still loved her even if she screwed his whole damn life up. He saw how his friend reacted to their break up. He was there when Byers threw the 45k diamond ring straight in the garbage pit while bawling like a fucking hyena (Frohike fished it out an hour later after Langley had given their friend a good hot chocolate remedy).

Mulder wanted to know something, so he decided to go for broke. He was not quitting right now. Well, he never did, so anyway…

"Why do you still love her? How did you know that she was the one?"

Byers scratched his chin, wiggling his nose and the little moustache under it. "You believe in soul mates, Mulder?"

He almost laughed. Funny question. He once was asked that same question by his philosophy teacher back in Harvard, and during those days, having just known that he was going be tied to Diana forcefully - he _did _laugh. A few bets came after that, but nothing that he couldn't easily win.

"C'mon Byers… that's fictional, man."

"Well, I believed it. I still do. I felt it within Susanne. Every breath I took with her was for her, every beat of my heart my body pumped back then was for her… still is for her. I still believe that she'll come back to me."

Shit. The man was still in love with the girl. Mulder shuddered. What a scary thought.

The people inside the shop dissipated, carrying _Jewel Links_ dinky bags on one hand while giggling ecstatically at each other. It was an unassuming group of nine-to-five middle aged women who were mingling in the mall. Mulder and Byers let them pass first, both their cheeks turning instant red when the floppy-haired women visibly checked them out. To avoid further embarrassment, Mulder lead the way into the now-sullen store. Byers followed him closely behind.

Mr. Tennyson was Mulder's personal "jewelry man." Ever since he had learned that women prefer jewelry to negligees, he had been coming back to the trustworthy businessman ever since. Emily had developed a love for the authentic designs as she grew up, and the rest of his friends - Walter, Byers, and his comrades - had found themselves attracted to Mr. Tennyson's sparkling stones.

When Tennyson caught Mulder and Byers entering his humble abode, he immediately waved at them, and then left the counter, barking strict orders at his attendants.

Byers found something that interested him at the far right of the shop, while Mulder waited patiently for Tennyson to return with his purpose. He leaned on the glass case before him, studying the extensive displays of diamonds linked with bracelets, necklaces, and rings. Mulder trailed his eyes all over them, until a particular piece caught his eye: a golden ring that had a humongous diamond on it, cradled within a lily setting. He smiled when it bought images of Scully to his brain. Good, good images.

"Mulder, no leaning!" Tennyson warned good-naturedly. In response, Mulder took a step back from the display, raising his hands to humor his jeweler. Tennyson chuckled, a sound that suspiciously was familiar as Santa Clause's chuckle. _Ho ho ho._

The old man certainly looked like THE St. Nick too, if you asked Mulder.

Tennyson's giddy façade turned serious as he opened the velvet black box, revealing to the director Scully's cross necklace, now sparkling twice as it did before. Mulder's was overjoyed, and he took the necklace into his hands, lifting it up to his eyes so that he could see the difference. Every shine was as abundant as glitter now. It was new again, a new lease on life for the necklace.

"I polished it good for you, Mulder." Tennyson grinned smugly, watching his satisfied customer. "One thing though," the jeweler retrieved the necklace from Mulder and asked him to come closer. Mr. Tennyson turned the necklace over, pointing at a mark behind the cross pendant.

"Could you read that manufacturer?"

Mulder squinted his eyes at the squiggly writing. "Yeah. Cadsburr."

"This necklace is very rare, Mr. Mulder." Tennyson lifted his bushy eyebrows, pointing at the embossed signature. "There are a very few heirloom pieces of this around the world - but most commonly, you could find this within the UK."

"I might have an inkling," Mulder said, opening his palm to accept the dainty necklace. "Wales? Right?"

Tennyson rubbed his cheery red nose. "Yes. This particular brand - 'Cadsburr'- was only handed to very prominent families in Wales. I'd say the owner of this necklace is pretty lucky. He should take care of it."

"He?" Mulder retorted. "I'm sorry, it's a she, Mr. Tennyson. You should have known that I only come here for special women," he kidded, jabbing his jeweler on the left arm.

The Santa Clause look-alike scratched at his scalp in amazement, darting his eyes around the shop, as if looking for an assailant of some sorts that would dispute the necklace's secret. "But 'Cadsburr' is a royal brand that's only reserved for men. If a man chooses to give his piece to a woman, it means the most intimate of relationships in Wales. The most intimate of intimate relationships."

"You make it sound as if it's in a war-epic movie." Mulder dug at his back pocket, snatching his wallet and taking from it his credit card. "Here, charge it."

Mr. Tennyson accepted the plastic money gratefully. "The history lesson's for free."

"But of course."

The jeweler signaled a "be back in a minute" at him, disappearing behind the counter. He noticed one of his purple-headed saleslady checking on her dinky red lipstick at the counter, and started giving her a hell of a scolding.

Mulder bit back a smile from the commotion, turning his attention back to the "heirloom." He lifted the tiny cross once again to his eyes, studying its delicate likeness and the beauty of its construction.

"You are in love with her, aren't you?"

If it came from a different person - from Emily, Walter, or Frohike - it would've rendered him helplessly shaking in catatonia. But it was from Byers, someone who had the guts to know him inside and out, almost acting as a surrogate Mother during the times he needed guidance the most. So it wasn't much of a shock when he felt his friend's presence near him, asking him a question he hoped he never had to answer again.

Mulder wiggled his fingers, watching intensely as the cross wiggled back fine strands of glittering gold. "I keep having these dreams. They are all like one continuous film, threading from one part of my subconscious. It scares me that through the last one, I found out that what I feel for her is more than what I should be feeling for her."

"What DO you feel for her?" Byers inquired, tone assuring that there's no wrong answer. Mulder trapped the necklace within his fist, wanting to feel the metal's coolness against his skin.

"Byers, you know me. I've never had a real earth-shattering relationship with women. Emily doesn't count."

"You have no idea … on what you are feeling for Spunk?"

"I don't know if the feelings are right. That's just it." Mulder laid the cross back to its new velvet box, and he closed the lid with a lustful snap.

"Well, I've heard one wise quote say that dreams are answers to questions we haven't learned how to ask yet."

Mulder smeared an evil grin on his face. "How wise?"

"Television wise. _Wise_ enough."

"Sure, and Frohike's Kung- fu is better than Langley's."

"Mulder, be serious for a moment." Byers rested an elbow on the glass casing, looking at the director with hooded eyes. "I am no psychic. I just happen to understand your mind well, and I know why you wanted me to come here today: so that I could help you clarify your feelings for her. But I can't do that. No one else can do that except you."

"I'm approaching the fucking situation like chicken shit."

"Yeah, you can say that again. You're torturing her. I am not at liberty to concur that she has the same degree of feelings you have for her, but I could see that she respects you, she cares for you, and yes, maybe she even loves you."

"I just," Mulder ran both hands through his coarse hair, wincing when he was reminded once more of its condition, "am overwhelmed beyond fucking belief. I haven't felt this way before. Scully's so different - she makes me do things that I never do. She makes me feel real. She makes me want to look at my life in a new way and change all the wrong… for her. She's a breath of fresh air."

"Then what are you afraid of? Rejection? Your age gap?"

"No, even if those are part of my fears, it doesn't sum it up. I'm afraid that … I'm going to screw this up. She trusted me with her life, and I'm going to screw that trust up. I feel that I am falling down a bottomless pit and if I let her in, I might pull her down with me. I don't want that. For her. Or for us."

Byers realized the weight of Mulder's words and reciprocated them quietly. After a second, he spoke up.

"You can't keep pushing her away. You'll hurt both sides."

"It's the only way I know."

"There are other ways, Mulder," Byers firmly pushed, lacing his fingers together and resting them on his abdomen. "I don't want you hurt. You are my friend, and I've grown to like Spunk too. You are _both _my friends and I don't want either of you hurt."

"She won't get hurt. I'm only a friend to her. I still will be. I'll just… lessen the closeness. Lessen the complications of our relationship. I think I could still control this. I KNOW I can."

A silly smile took over Byers' face. Rather than setting Mulder at ease, it drew jolting sparks through his spine.

"No one could control love, Mulder. And you are probably the last person who could."

* * *

Once Mulder and Byers were out of the mall, the heavens started to garner up most of its frustrations on Los Angeles again. An angry drizzle that was accompanied by a humid breeze struck through the whole city, leaving the people dripping wet with both sweat and rain.

Mulder last night called in a one day break for the whole crew, until the rains subsided, and until LA could recover from the storm's threat of paralysis. According to Walter, they were scheduled to shoot an outdoor scene today and using his best judgment, he decided that they needed to postpone what's on the schedule. He also thought about substituting a production scene for today, unfortunately, when he was about to make that call - the clouds rolled in on the city and started groaning at his idea. So he gave everyone a free day off. Including himself - an idea that he hadn't entertained for a long time ever since production started - but now that he had, it served him better than he expected it to do.

This was also a blessing in a Lucifer-disguise, since he was able to call up Byers last night to accompany him to the mall. A small change of plans that led to something much, much more.

Specks of water were lingering on his shirt when he charged into the house. Without bothering to shake off his mud-splattered shoes, he stepped on the welcome mat (Jenny would have a fit later; so will Scully) and shrugged them off, leaving two horrendous shoe prints on the burgundy rug. Ignoring that, he also waved his black umbrella and closed it, flinging more specks of water on and around him.

It was then that his eyes wandered over to the living room, where the most magnificent sight of the century greeted his sore physical, emotional, and mental state:

Scully was perched on the couch, her hair tied into her usual messy bun, sprinkling golden red auburn flocks over her shining face. She was grinning impishly down at the magazine she was cradling in between her legs as she browsed through the pages, flicking her wire- rimmed reading glasses further up her nose. He can't see what she was reading, since her lower extremities were hidden behind the couch's backbone, but he speculated that it was something that included _Aerosmith _and _Moonlighting, _judging from her rapt fascination.

His mood shifted into great stages of euphoria at the sight of her so undaunted, carefree, and without thinking twice he walked over to her position, standing directly behind her.

Now he could see what she was reading. It was the latest issue of _Rolling Stone_, with John Travolta and Jamie Lee Curtis on the cover. And now, he could also see where her utter stimulation came from: the smallest of small _Aerosmith_ article with a picture of Steve Tyler sprawled on one tiny corner.

"Look at this," she exclaimed, pointing a fingernail at the caption under Steve Tyler's picture. Mulder was slightly startled that Scully sensed his presence behind her, but not at all that shocked. If he was the one lounging on the couch, and Scully was standing behind him, he'd definitely sense her presence.

"They're naming _Aerosmith_ the most promising band of the 1990's!" She jabbed another finger at Tyler's nose, sighing contentedly at this new fact. Mulder grinned.

"As if they could beat _The Police_ at that chance," he retorted, earning for himself a well-deserved Scully glare.

"_The Police_ are already on the edge of disbanding, Mr. Mulder."

Ah, the icy love of a fanatic. Reminded him of those Woodstock days, when he actively and courageously bickered with other fanatics who the best band was at the festivities.

Mulder chewed on his plump lower lip as he moved away from Scully, settling himself on the opposite sofa couch. He reached down and started massaging his toes, since they were badly abused by the leather's bite when he waded through the front lawn's mud.

The auburn Spunk settled her magazine beside her waist, and this action made him look up to see her outfit. She was wearing her casual house clothes - yellow mini-shorts that boasted the best of her porcelain legs, a light chocolate pudding brown shirt that was three sizes too big for her, but it was dipping slightly down to her neckline, giving him ample view of her cleavage. When his eyes reached that part, he tore them away from her and looked down at his feet.

Scully pushed a strand of hair off of her face. "Where have you been?"

He didn't want to talk about where he had been, it only reminding him of his earlier conversation with Byers, so he reached over his back pocket and revealed the velvet _Jewel Link_ box. Handing out to Scully, she stood up from the couch to take it from him.

Opening the lid, he watched closely as her eyes softened with his small offering, and she lifted the necklace out of the box delicately, cradling it close to her face like he did a while ago. The cross pendant shined twice it did now that it was in its owner's hands, as if it had wanted to impress Scully, too.

Mulder felt a surge of pride burst in him. He was proud of his efforts in getting the necklace fixed and bringing it back to Scully better than it was.

"The owner gave me a little History 101 lesson with that particular heirloom."

Scully removed her fixed gaze from her necklace. "Heirloom?"

"He told me that your jewelry is a Welsh 'heirloom.' Only the highly regarded families of Wales are fortunate enough to accept a necklace as priceless as that."

No answer. Scully still stood before him, studying the necklace, while he wiggled his toes on the damn carpet to keep himself from standing up, taking the necklace from her, and placing it on her neck. Then he'd breathe in her wonderful scent, he'd kiss her neck lightly, teasing her, teasing him - and then he'd…

He'd go to fucking hell.

Mulder rested his head on the couch's soft silky covering, letting his gaze wander over the soft brown paint of the ceiling. He's tired; feeling shitty and fucked up. He wanted a break from her, to clear his mind and to stop himself from loving her. It's insane and absurd and he'd one day toss a gun in front of his face and shoot.

He focused once again at the ceiling, not realizing that Scully was moving towards him.

The chandelier's glittering diamonds. The large squares of lilting sunlight the rain's finally allowing to shine through. Scully's face directly over his.

Wonderful.

Just mother fucking _wonderful_.

"Mulder, tell me what's wrong, please. Last night you went out of the bed and slept on the floor. Is it me? Did I do something wrong? Are you… angry about something I did on the job? Or did I clean your room wrong last Sunday?" Her eyes were pleading, asking permission so that she could read his emotions, to gain some understanding on what's happening to them.

He chose not to answer, shutting his eyes tight.

Mother. Fucking. Wonderful.

Scully stifled a choking sob, pressing her forehead to his. It was her last vain attempt to recede herself from breaking down right in front of him.

Mulder stopped himself from recoiling, and then allowed himself to feel the coolness of her skin against his heating systems.

She's so cold. He's so warm.

Cold. Warm.

She didn't want him to see her reaction. He didn't want to see what it would do to her face, too.

"God, Mulder… you're killing me. I probably deserve what you're doing, but all the same… you should say something."

His mind started working, and he swore that with the rate that it was going, she could feel the wheels turning against her forehead. The whirring sounds, the hissing pauses, and the heartbreaking dilemma that were threatening to undo him … and both of them in the process.

_No_. His silent self whispered. _You don't deserve it, Scully. I DO._

That was when he felt her hand gang up on his chest, her head falling down to his shoulder, her knees hitting the carpeted floor, her hand finding his breast pocket, and something falling into it. Her breath was on the crook of his neck, tantalizing, stroking, killing. She was surrendering. Surrendering to his torture and to herself.

What was he doing to both of them?

"I- I want you to keep that. Until you could tell me what's wrong. Until you could be honest with me. Don't you _fucking_ dare attempt to return that to me or else I would never talk to you, ever. Only return it when you feel that you could open up to me. Until you could admit that you lied to me last night when you said that everything was okay." Her words were cold, her persona resuming back to Spunk: that angry, twenty-year-old lady who wanted nothing of his crap.

Now, this was his breaking point. He knew her shifting personality all too well: if he wouldn't budge, she wouldn't push.

Ironically, that's what he's afraid of, too. For her to set back into this confining box, just as he had found her back in Lone Glitter eight months ago, tied up with dainty nylon and sloppily stuck together by packaging tape. He liked to think that he helped her break free of those confines, that he was one of the factors why she had changed over the few months they had been together.

And now that she was freed, he was afraid that she'd drop right back into that box and padlock herself in. All thanks to him, of course.

Too many fears involving this shit. And it was all his fault. If he didn't start falling for her in the first place, none of these would be happening.

Scully walked away from the living room and into her room, shutting the door with a frightful bang that made Jenny run from the kitchen. His housekeeper checked on him, asking what's going on. Mulder denied anything serious, and when assured, Jenny returned to her cooking.

All things cleared, Mulder groped into his breast pocket, clasping his tongue backwards when he felt the object Scully gave back to him.

Her cross necklace.

He lifted it in the open air, dangling it from his fingertips, letting the crisp monsoon winds blow through the jewelry, before tucking it back into his breast pocket.

Spunk Rule #1 should've been to never fall in love with her.

He never should've.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER TWENTY ONE**


	25. Chapter Twenty Two

**CHAPTER TWENTY TWO:**

* * *

September 9, 1985

Dear Melissa,

I don't know what to write to you this time. I attempted to write a letter last month but it came out as slightly absurd and unimportant. I didn't even finish it. The movie and dancing have taken up most of my time and maybe my energy has been sucked into these things and I have none to spare for writing letters (that will be unanswered) late at night. Or, maybe this war with my emotions has taken its toll too.

The first few months after I've returned here to Los Angeles, I have been happy. I danced everything away during our practices and rehearsals; I loved every single minute of it. The girls here are very nice to me – unlike the women in the _Folies Bergere_ – though, understandably, they were wary of me because I already had a close relationship with our Director. Yet, they gave me a chance and soon enough, they got to like me. They share with me the cast secrets, inside jokes, and ask me for my opinions regarding their dancing.

I also have a co-star (can you believe that? I _have_ a co-star!) who has been very nice and patient with me. He has introduced me around the set so that I would socialize more than my afternoon lunches with Mulder. It is quite funny though – my co-star seems to think that I have this dire need for more friends.

Ever since I was young, you have known me to be someone that didn't make a lot of friends. I only had one constant companion in school every day and that was Ellen. When Ellen and her family left for Vienna, dancing was all I had. So I danced my life away, not even bothering to go out and experience something else beyond the four corners of my room. Funny, isn't it? Because look at where I am now – I am involved in a job that _demands_ for socialization. I feel as if I am living a new life here, that I am a new Dana Katherine Scully – someone who is a sharp contrast to the quiet girl back there in Wales.

However, even if my co-star (Mr. Pendrell) feels that I need more friends to perk my life up, the truth is that I have found all the friendships I need in one man: our Director, Mr. Fox Mulder.

I have come to understand, from the first time we met and he chased me around in the club I was then working in, from the time he offered to drive me home because it was already past midnight to the next couple of days when he wouldn't quit on me as his leading lady, that he was going to be a very important person in my life. We might have been born twenty years apart, but from him, I draw my strength and my youth. He has the spirit of a nineteen-year-old boy, as if he keeps on waking up in a time loop: the same age every single day of his life.

Mulder makes me laugh, relax, and amazingly, he makes me feel special. He is probably the most constant friend I've ever had in my life so far.

Yet, what we share isn't perfect, Missy. Something has been wrong lately; something Mulder won't tell me. He has been pushing me away. It started around two months ago and it has been going on ever since. I still live with him, we still talk – but it just isn't the same. I live with him, but I miss him every single day.

Oftentimes, I find myself hoping that this is only one of my nightmares – the frighteningly vivid ones that cloak me with intense fear in the middle of the night – and that I'd wake up to Mulder being my best friend again.

No, I shouldn't think that. Mulder can never be a nightmare. He is always the good part of my life, the reason why I have lived again.

You give my love to Nana, Bill, Charles, and your baby.

_ Mama caniatáu e ar agor ei bron ar fi._

Signed,  
Dana

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER TWENTY TWO**


	26. Chapter Twenty Three: Over New Mexico

**CHAPTER TWENTY THREE:**

* * *

Somewhere over New Mexico  
September 26, 1985  
Thursday

Since WB was generous enough to book the whole first-class seats of Flight 326 for the entire cast and selected crew of _Danced Yesterday_, everyone was in their considerably cramped cabin heavens, either sleeping or stuffing themselves with airline food. The last weeks of rehearsals, shootings, and production for the movie left everyone tired and cranky. Because of the continuous rains Los Angeles had endured for a week, it caused a time constraint in the schedule. They had to defer shooting on twelve WB outdoor lot scenes AFTER they have finished shooting in Denton, Texas. Walter already booked their flights on a particular date and Mulder didn't want any more interruptions. Their trip to Northern Texas would have to be cut short though, and after two weeks, they'd have to head back to LA for the remaining scenes. Plus, there were also some location shoots that they needed to finish back in LA.

Mulder chewed on his sunflower seeds, staring out at the cloudy skies over (what he thought was) New Mexico, wondering why in the world the monsoon rains had to strike LA when it was announced that they would be having a longer summer seasons. Now their shooting program was totally mixed up, everyone was exhausted from trying to rush their tasks, and he himself was tempted to turn things over to hell. He still had yet to try that wine and Frank Sinatra evening to relax his tortured nerves.

"Excuse me, Mr. Mulder. Do you want something else to drink?" a flight attendant politely asked him. Mulder divested his attention from the window and stared at the exotic tall woman. She was very attractive, one of those ladies who you had to get a second look at to fully appreciate the depth of her physical appearance.

Mulder found himself grinning at her as he shook his head. "No, no thank you," a quick look at her nameplate gave him an insight on her name, "Denise."

'Denise' flirtatiously flashed him her striking smile and batted her eyelashes at him. However, she was suddenly called by someone behind him. The attendant grimaced, making sure that he saw how she pouted her perfect red lips, before moving towards the needy passenger.  
Mulder craned his neck to see who it was.

After the two blank seats behind him was Scully, huddled comfortably in her own cabin, eyeing the Flight Stewardess critically. She gave Denise the once-over with her piercing blue eyes, whispered what she wanted (a cup of water) and made sure that Denise was out of the first class cabin when she finally settled back onto her seat, tucking her arms uneasily inside the airline blanket.

Mulder bit into a sunflower seed, chewing gradually, tasting the saltiness on his tongue.

After a minute, he stood up from his seat. He grabbed a handful of sunflower seeds from the bundle beside him, and started towards Scully's seat.  
When he reached her side, she was unaware of his presence. She was staring out the window like he was doing a while ago, the soft lines on her forehead wrinkling her perfect complexion.

"Hey," he called out, surprising Scully, her whole body tensing.

When she saw that it was him, her expression slackened. "Hey, too."

Mulder gestured at her blanket-clad form, accidentally flinging some sunflower seeds on her. Scully was propped up on the two airline seats, using the chairs as a make-shift bed. "Can I join you?" he inquired, watching as Scully grimaced at the mess he had made.

"Sure," she replied, whisking the seeds carefully off her and throwing them in the trash bag. Removing her feet from the other chair, she took a pillow from her head and placed it on the floor to rest her feet there. She had been enduring long hours of practices lately and the strain had been taking a toll on her toes.

Mulder sat down, opening the table and scattering his seeds on it. He ate a few more while sharing an uncomfortable silence with the Spunk.  
THIS was all his fault. Things weren't supposed to be this awkward between them. They didn't talk like they used to anymore; they didn't laugh at each other anymore; they even stopped comforting each other.

It was all his fault; his fucking fault.

All because he had fallen in love with her.

Great going, Superman Mulder!

Scully rested her head on the wall, her hair splaying on the headrest, red contrasting sharply with the grayness. She sighed heavily, crossing her arms under the blanket.  
Mulder stopped eating his seeds. He stole a glance at his companion, at her tired physique, at her eye bags, at her lonely blue eyes …

He paused.

God, he missed her so fucking much.

Swallowing a magnitude of his damn fear, he started talking. "How are you feeling?" Not exactly a good start, but it wasn't bad, too. He knew that she didn't like flying, and no matter how awful it sounded, he hoped that she was a bit panicky… at least that way, he could offer her his help. His comfort. Like the good old days.  
It was like a war. He would charge and then when she was aggravated, he would retreat. When she would charge, and he was aggravated, she would retreat. It felt to him like an attraction of destruction – whatever that meant.

"I feel good," Scully replied woozily, bringing her sore feet up to her chest. She's making the ailing first-grader pose again. The one he hated seeing. The one that made her seem so small, so vulnerable.

Mulder closed his eyes momentarily, then without asking for his own better judgment, he opened his arms and pulled her into them. Scully stiffened when she felt herself being moved, but relaxed when her back met his front. Once again they were two tectonic plates that had finally found each other in the vast waters of the Atlantic.

He held her chin so that she would rest her head on his chest, as his other hand went around hold her small waist. She had been losing weight lately and he had no idea whether it was due to the practices or from extreme stress.

He's worried about her.

Mulder was too tired to think about Scully's proximity and he was thankful for that. She was positioned on a strategic location: her ass right above his lap, and he knew that if he wondered about it too much, he'd get a hard on before touchdown. So he didn't think. He just let himself enjoy her warmth, let himself miss it, let himself bask in it. She was always heaven, always someone beautiful, and she was home.

"I… I missed you," Scully murmured, her voice breaking. Jesus, it ripped his heart apart. Mulder stroked the soft flesh of her cheeks, back and forth, losing himself in this Scully-land and allowing himself to be lost. He didn't want out. He didn't want to escape. If this was Scully-land, he'd gladly stay and be her prisoner forever.

He didn't answer back, afraid that if he did, she might hear how much he did indeed miss her. She might hear something more than just miss. She might hear his love. And she might get scared of the way he needed her, of the way he loved her. He couldn't certainly have that.

So he opted for another way to tell her just how much:

"The last time I was in Denton, Texas was when Emily was only seven years old. There was a reported shoot-out in one of the clubs and the police wanted me to identify a woman that they assumed was Samantha."

"It wasn't her," Scully stated.

"Yeah, it wasn't her." Mulder hugged her tighter against him, "On my way towards the airport, I passed by a bookshop called _Ouroboros_."

"What does _Ouroboros_ mean?" she asked innocently. Mulder couldn't help smiling at her un-Spunk like question.

"It is an image of a snake eating its own tail. It is devouring itself in a perfect circle. Its eyes are red in anger, as if it is angry at its own self."

"Okay. So what about this snake?"

"About the bookshop. I looked for some books that had topics that I enjoyed back in college. It was a little detour, if you may," Mulder said. "In Reformed Epistemology, it says that any statement about the truth that is also purported to be a true statement is absurd. So the snake eating its own tail is absurd because the entirety of the snake contains its own stomach, he cannot devour - let alone digest - himself."

"But you believe otherwise?"

"I believe that I am oftentimes that snake. That I self-destruct during times that I cannot express my feelings, that I oftentimes devour myself when I cannot show my heart to the world. It is a method that I believe would only hurt me, and not others. But I've come to the conclusion that I am oftentimes wrong in thinking this way. I am that absurd image of a snake eating its own tail. I'm _Ouroboros_, Scully. That its image is true."

He felt her nod against his chest. "I understand."

Even if he doubted that she did, he didn't ask her anymore. Mulder only hoped that his explanation was enough to ease the tension between them. It was his way of telling her his reasons for shoving her away.

Someday, maybe, he would be able to be completely honest with her.

Mulder remembered Scully's cross necklace: a small memento of this invisible war that he kept in his wallet. He brought it wherever he went. He believed that someday, he'd be able to hand it back to her.

Someday.

Scully's breaths slowed down, and before he knew it, she was asleep. Mulder shifted so that he was more comfortable in their position, since he's intending to hold her for the rest of the flight.

Someday, but not today. And then, he'd hope that he could hold her forever.

* * *

Mulder closed of one ear with a finger, struggling against the enormous noise his crew was creating in the backdrop.

"What are you saying Emily?" Mulder shouted into the receiver, pressing the phone closer to his ear.

His daughter, at the other end of the line, started stuttering. "I- I'm sorry I sound terrible. I'm a little queasy. I sent a gift there in Texas for you and I've taken Jenny with me for a while. Jeff doesn't want me working around the house while I'm pregnant."

Her shaky voice made Mulder nervous. His previous experience with pregnancy wasn't as enlightening as he wanted it to be. He started becoming Diana's husband when she was three months pregnant and all she did when he offered his assistance was snap at him.

"Are you okay, Honey?" He bent his head down, as if attempting to hide himself under the table in front of him so that he could talk to Emily in private. The birthday par-tay that his crew planned for him today was very generous of them (he didn't really expect anything from people he himself overworked the past few months), but he did want some privacy with his daughter. Unfortunately, the only living phone extension for the 'Simile Texan house location' was within the vicinity of his party.

"Yeah, I'm feeling good, Daddy. Don't you even worry about me - Jeff is doing that already. I send Jenny four times a week back at your house to check on things." He could almost hear his daughter's faint smile within her voice. "How's your party? How does it feel to be forty?"

He grimaced when he was reminded of his current age. "Same. I'm slipping further and further away from that fucking calendar."

"Cheer up, Daddy. You know what they say - life starts at your forties."

"I haven't started a life yet. That's what I'm afraid of," he kidded, ducking out of the way when Skinner waltzed with a tray of crystal champagne over his head. "Who's sending the gift here? You could've kept it; I'm going back home next month."

"Aw Daddy, I want you to have it specifically on your birthday. And… and the person who's sending it didn't actually leave me so much of a choice."

An _Aerosmith_ song started in the background, and Mulder had to shake his head. He'd recognize that scratchy undertone of Steve Tyler's singing voice anywhere, since it seemed to be the only records playing redundantly at home. Scully was now at the boom box's control panel, as he expected. How exciting. "Who's sending it? Do I have to meet him at the airport?"

"It's… a _her_, Daddy. She wanted to see you… she kind of remembered when your birthday is and said that she'll personally deliver our gift - including Uncle Byers, Langley, and Frohike's gifts. I told her where you're shooting, so expect her in a few minutes."

"Is she also a surprise?" Mulder retorted, curious as to who would actually bother to deliver a pair of boxers, some XXX videos, and probably a winter sweater all the way from Los Angeles to Northern Texas.

"No, Daddy. I don't think you would **like** the surprise."

The sudden change in Emily's voice took Mulder by surprise. That was when he caught Walter coming towards him in the corner of his eye, the Producer's eyebrows slanting towards each other.

"Honey, is there something I should know before this all goes to hell?" He already had an inkling of who the person was, but he didn't want to believe it. He couldn't believe it. It wasn't at all possible!

"Dad," Emily's voice quivered on the phone, and then some hushing sounds came from the backdrop. He deduced that it was probably Jeffrey trying to calm down Emily's raging emotions. "I'm so sorry… but she insisted on seeing you."

Oh shit.

Mulder's fist met the hard table. It barely made any sound against _Aerosmith's _crooning song. Walter saw his reaction and took small steps closer to him, quietly asserting the situation at hand.

"Dammitt, Emily… Dammitt! How could you?" he demanded, running his hand through his hair nervously.

"I'm so sorry Daddy, I really am… but I couldn't stop her. She wanted to see you so badly. I'm so sorry."

Mulder didn't even say goodbye when he slammed the receiver down, his two fists now meeting with the table in a sickening thud. Walter approached him, resting a hand on the Director's sshoulder.

"She's outside, Mulder. I didn't dare ask her in. I think it is better that you talk to her outside."

Mulder shook his head forcefully. "NO. I'm not going to talk to her."

"Mulder …"

"I'M NOT going to talk to HER!" he bellowed, making some crew snap their attention to him. That was when Mulder noticed Scully standing in the doorframe that connected the living room to the dining room. She was gazing at him worriedly, her hands playing with the fine silk of her sleeveless bohemian art imprinted shirt. She probably saw the woman outside, had talked to her, and was alarmed that it was the worst person to be expected on Mulder's birthday.

"Mulder," Walter squeezed his shoulder, more as a condemnation than a comforting gesture. "Samantha's out there. She's waiting for you. You have no choice. She flew a hundred miles just to see you."

"Why the hell did she even have to come into my life right now? That woman doesn't deserve an inch of my time!"

Scully came closer, her expression worried. Walter caught her eyes, silently pleading for her to reason with Mulder. She was the only one who really could do that.

"Samantha told me that she wanted to see her big brother." Scully smiled slightly, testing the waters between them. Mulder snorted.

"This is none of your business, Scully," he barked, his stomach churning.

"I'm your friend, Mulder. It IS my business," she indignantly stated. She pushed a lock of crimped hair behind her, her British accent smothered over by the courage in her voice. "Samantha's your flesh and blood. That is one thing you cannot deny. And I believe that the mere fact of her flying all the way from LA to Texas just to see you is more than enough proof that she loves you." She closed in on the gap between them and whispered, "And I know that deep inside you, you also do love her. You are her big brother, her protector, her Superman. Go out there and be that for a moment. You both deserve the chance."

Mulder helplessly stared at Scully, throwing his hands up in defeat. If Scully told him that she wanted him to jump off a 7,890 ft. cliff this very moment, he'd be out on the phone asking for a cliff with that specific height.

Damn. Why did he have to feel too strongly about her? Why did he let her affect him so much?

Walter patted him on the back and silently thanked Scully for her successful effort. Then, it was Scully's turn to place a hand on his back and she guided him to the front door, where outside, Samantha would be waiting.

Happy fortieth birthday, Fox William Mulder.

* * *

Back when he appreciated the name "Fox" more than "Mulder," back during those unsung days of innocence, Fox would always beckon his Mom and Dad to bring him back to Quonochontaug. In that place, his heart would be ubiquitously buoyant, floating atop a string of fluffy clouds and bouncing on the colorful flowers. Later on, during the first death anniversary of his father, his Mom remarked that Fox had a special connection with their summerhouse. He was born there. Out of her own boredom during pregnancy, she formed the beauty of Quonochontaug. And Fox William - another testament to Bill and Teena's everlasting devotion and love for each other - was formed and born in that very place.

Samantha hated going to Quonochontaug. She found the place utterly boring. Whenever they arrived in that summerhouse, his younger sister would throw incredible fits that would cut their vacation short, in turn tearing poor Fox's heart apart.

He believed that Samantha hated him. She hated him like she hated those fluffy pink dresses their Mom made her wear every weekend. She hated him like she hated drinking that piping hot milk every night to ease her digestion. She hated him like she hated the world.  
Out of Mulder's perfect tootsie-twirling reality, Samantha was the one that didn't twirl. She was a wrong piece of the puzzle, the wrong opposite, the wrong polar magnet.

He tried against sheer will to love her. He tried to be her big brother. When she tripped on an impromptu hiking trip down the forests of Rhode Island, Fox aided her by piggy-back style in his own arms, but she kept wailing and thumping his shoulders to put her down. Out of panic, Fox asked Samantha how he would make her walk when her ankle's all gnarly and twisted.  
She only pouted and eyed him angrily. He had to walk a mile back home and a mile back down to rescue her.

Mulder had stopped trying to be 'big brother' ever since. He was ten years old. Sam was seven.

Amidst the turbulent birthday party served up for his fortieth year on earth, Mulder was outside all the festivities, his head cradled measly in his hand as he rocked his body gently back and forth.

In front of him was his so-called sister. Her brown, violet- streaked hair was messily splayed on her tanned shoulders - some ragged locks interweaved with the accumulation of necklaces around her neck. Thick make-up hid her olive skin, demented with white facial powder, and dark eyeliner that streaked down to the thickness of her eye bags. A leather trench coat completed her ensemble, holding it against her thin frame as the silent summer breeze begged her to open it. On one hand was a paper bag of his presents, something that he hadn't asked her about.

This was Samantha Mulder: the baby sister that he was supposed to protect.

Mulder blinked twice, trying to clear her image. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to be a phantom, to be someone who could will this away against all the truth in the world. He wanted the world to stop revolving so that this would never happen.

Sam attempted to smile, but failed when Mulder still resisted looking at her. Lifting the gifts, she stretched her arm out to him, the paper bag dangling from her fingers. "Here are your presents, Fox. I also have mine in there."

Her voice sounded different. Scratchy, probably from coughs and colds. Or from smoking too much pot.

Mulder accepted the gifts. After peering into the content, he pushed them aside and glared at Samantha steadily.

She took his gaze calmly, taking a step backward and elevating herself on her three-inch _fuck me_ boots. It was the only apparel of her wardrobe that was visible to him under the trench coat's length. "How are you doing?"

He cleared his throat. Considering all things, she did fly all the way here just to see him. So maybe she deserved a little regard for that. Just a little.

"I'm fine."

That was his little regard.

Samantha landed on the balls of her feet, pressing the curb with her leather boots. The sound made a sharp _tack_ in his ears. "That's good to hear. How's the movie?" she pursued.

Sometimes, Mulder believed that there were still some similarities between him and Sam. One of them would be the fact that they both didn't know how to quit.

Funny, wasn't it?

"Great. It's doing great."

A grimace darkened his sister's already sad face, and Mulder had to look opposite from her to preserve an inch of the decorum he's desperately holding onto. That was the same face she wore when she found out about their father's death.

The silence was suddenly too stuffy, but Mulder didn't make a move to weasel himself out of it. His stubbornness was telling him to hold onto his seat and to not jump out of the ship - iceberg or no iceberg. Samantha will have to grab that life vest for herself before he did.

However, before his sister could come up with something to dissipate the unraveling silence between them, she spotted something - or someone - behind him. Mulder, disregarding it as no one important, continued to stare solemnly at the hollow spot nearby Samantha's fidgeting _fuck me_ ankle-length boots.

"Who's that red haired girl?"

At the words 'red haired girl,' Mulder jumped to his feet and barricaded the view from his sister. He pierced her with icy daggers, breathing heavily down at Samantha's running make-up.

"She's my leading lady for the movie. She's none of your business."

Samantha stole another glance at Scully, then her eyes skittered back at his face.

"And she is yours?"

"She is _my_ business."

"What's her name?"

Fuck it. Samantha's too nosy to tip-toe around.

"Dana. Dana Scully."

"Nice name. She's not from around here?"

"She's from Wales. What's that to you?"

His sister retreated comically, raising her hands up to signal her backing away from him. She giggled, clapping the solid cement ground of the front porch with her pencil thin heels. "She's very worried about you… maybe about our meeting. She has been at the window during our whole conversation, peeking at us."

"She has the _right_ to be worried," he growled, still standing like a wooden Mulder on the same spot. Sam balked, her face strangely cheerful as she opened the first two buttons of her leather trench coat, revealing red rashes that were destructively splattered on her pale flesh.

She fanned herself with her hands, finally realizing the depth of Texas' summer. "You like her, don't you?"

Mulder's wooden arc melted into an aggravated posture. Samantha still hated him after all these years - after all she had done to him, and after all he had done for her.

Talk about sibling rivalry.

"I don't have time for this, Sam. I'm fucking forty years old and we are still dancing around like we haven't been potty trained. I'm sick and tired of this - aren't you?" he demanded, voice dripping with bile.

In an instant, Mulder was back to being eighteen years old. Back in their old living room that reeked of their Mother's cinnamon perfume. Back to the day when Samantha was arrested. Back to the last days of his perfect existence in Massachusetts. Back to the last day he spoke with Sam as his sister and not as a heavy burden.

She swung her hair from her face, and for a moment, Mulder seriously misjudged her age. Despite the soft creases of laugh lines at the edges of her eyes and the corners of her mouth, she still appeared young. Well-preserved. And as angry as she was before.

"Yes I am. Why do you think am I doing this? Why do you think I flew all the way from Hawaii, to Los Angeles, to here - right now?"

Mulder bit back the rage that was rising in his throat. "Why?"

"Because I'm tired of living like a fugitive from my very own family. I'm sick and tired of this… of this… of your anger at me, Fox! Can't you let it go? Is it so hard to forgive me?"  
Large, unprepared dollops of tears sprinted at the corners of Samantha's eyes. They mingled with the dark mascara and they sailed down her cheeks, black as the night.

He remained stoic as he watched his sister exorcise her emotions. He had cried enough for her already, for his father's death and for all the wrongdoings Sam had done to their family.

"I can't, Sam. And I'm not sorry that I can't forgive you. You should understand that you don't just come knocking on my door and start pretending that nothing happened. It doesn't work that way. It will never work that way. Never, between us."

A tense silence overworked itself, straining the rough edges between the two siblings. Samantha heaved in large breaths, turning her back to him, panicky as she wiped away dark traces of teardrops from her cheeks. Mulder, meanwhile, relaxed into his form and sat back down on the lawn benches, stretching his long legs before him.

The music inside the bungalow-type house listlessly surrendered to the evening, taking with it some crew members who had overdosed themselves with booze. They all crawled towards their respective cars with their designated drivers ambling behind them, their heads tilting to give Mulder some medium of respect despite their light headedness. He spotted a blur of red at the corner of his eye, but knowing exactly who it was, he didn't dare look in that direction.

Samantha did, however. She regarded Scully with a small, sad smile.

"At least you have someone by your side now, Fox. Take care of her."

Mulder watched as Samantha licked her chapped lips, buttoning her leather trench coat until he could see none of the disturbing red rashes that littered on her chest. She began to walk away from him, from the bungalow house, from the front porch, and he watched with a heart hardened with years of hate.

Forty years of his life. He had spent almost twenty- two years of that life hating his very own sister.

Have more birthdays to come, Mr. Mulder.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER TWENTY THREE**

* * *

**A/N:** Only six more chapters to go before the new chapters of BOOK II are posted! I'm as excited as a chihuahua here! I hope you guys are, too! (Look at all my exclamation points! Woohoo!)


	27. Chapter Twenty Four

**CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR:**

* * *

November 11, 1985

Dear Melissa,

"You are one of the best gifts I have ever received."

Those were the exact words Mulder told me two weeks ago, during his birthday celebration after I handed him my small present. I bought him something I was sure he would appreciate: a vintage Frank Sinatra 1960's album that had one of his most favorite songs on it - "Blue Moon". I was quite happy that it lifted his mood for the rest of the evening and we spent the final hours of his birthday together on the lawn while looking up at the stars. We had the party in one of our shooting locations and it had this huge, sprawling lawn that had well-maintained grass despite the constant Texan heat.

All the other crew members were given the thumbs up to leave the area … and for no reason at all, Mulder decided that he didn't want to go back to the hotel that night. So we gathered what little props the crew left for the bedroom sequences and we laid down there under the stars, as we did back in Rhode Island.

For once, I felt that everything was back to normal.

He joked and shyly sang to me Sinatra songs as I listened eagerly. We swapped stories with one another: I mentioned that I've forever wanted a puppy, but that Charles was allergic to dog fur. He confessed that he once had an affair with a woman named Phoebe who was also British, but was from Oxford. He said that the most difficult women he has ever met were all from one part of the world and I laughed, because it was probably true. He loves joking, Melissa. His sense of humor is something that you would not be quickly acquainted with when you meet him. It will take a while and maybe a dozen layers to peel off to reveal that little boy within him who reveals himself when he's finally comfortable with you.

I believe that this may be the reason why I am so drawn to him. I have lived my whole life as an adult, never once as a child, and even if I am only twenty-years-old, I feel as if I'm older than Mulder. I feel as if I'm an eighty-year-old woman living in a twenty-year-old body. I feel used, tired, beaten down.

I left Wales months ago thinking that if I tried my luck here in America, I might feel worthy of who I am supposed to be. I came to America looking for a reason to live. And what I found was so much more.

I feel different now, Melissa. If you have the opportunity to look at me now, you would notice how much I've changed. I'm happier, for one. The darkness I've been carrying for most of my life has been pushed back. It's still there, sure, but I'm happy to let it rest for the first time in a long time.

I truly feel that I have a chance to live happily. And I owe it all to Mulder.

Without a doubt, he is the most important person I've ever met here so far, Melissa. I trust him with my life – and if he asked me to lay down in front of him with my skin split into two, I'd do that if it means that I could earn the same trust I have for him. I believe that what we share is beyond physical or emotional … I feel as if it's a spiritual connection. I'm certain that if he died right now, I would lose the will to carry on. I know it sounds rubbish, Missy, but he means everything to me, and it is amazing: to know one person this way, to trust him with everything you have, to receive his understanding, to sense that maybe (just maybe) he feels the same way …

However, I'm not even sure if he _feels_ the same way.

Mulder has his secrets, as I have mine. I know I'm being unfair here, but the way he has kept something from me for the past few weeks have hurt me so. He sometimes looks at me with so much fear in his eyes that I physically feel my heart breaking into two.

He's my life right now, Melissa. Don't take it that way – we're not lovers, we're not related, we haven't even been friends long enough! But deep inside me, as strange as this sounds, I believe that I've met him in another time and place. And in that time and place, we both danced on the same stage and nothing else mattered but one another. We were but two people dancing their lives away to an invisible melody; two people who have forgotten that they stood yesterday … all that matters is the beat, the movements, and where it takes them.

I'm afraid, Melissa. I'm afraid that it'll forever remain this way.

Give my love to Bill, Charles, Nana, and your baby.

_Mama well dodi fi ybron._

Signed,  
Dana

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR**


	28. Chapter Twenty Five: Martha's Vineyard

**CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE:**

* * *

Martha's Vineyard  
Massachusetts  
December 24, 1986  
Tuesday

Just south of Martha's Vineyard were the memories of his younger years, delicately trimmed with camp songs and activities such as snake-hunting out in the wilderness that formerly surrounded the state. There were also baseball games in the summer, his Dad as the pitcher, him striding onto their makeshift backyard field with his trusty baseball bat while he spit on the ground just like the professionals. There was also the aroma of baked oatmeal cookies in the autumn, his Mom playing Stratego and him losing to her while they watched the brown leaves fall to their demise on the ground outside. And the winters were his favorite – there were tasting the first drops of snow on his tongue, making wishes, opening presents, having his Mom and Dad laugh at his eagerness.

Now, like his Father and that home, they were all ghosts of a murky memory.

Mulder stretched his limbs out in the morning sun, marveling at the blanket of whiteness that had fallen on the estate just last night, filling up each corner of the backyard with pristine new snow which were mostly piled in the middle of the wide lawn. This was something he always missed in Massachusetts. It never snowed in Los Angeles. In Massachusetts, it snowed as if it was time for the next ice age.

He puffed a whoosh of air from his lungs, watching the frost claim his breath and making it visible to his naked eyes. Grinning like a kid who just received his first Christmas present, he rubbed his gloved palms together and bounded out of the front porch, towards the snowy grounds.

This was Christmas at its finest.

The invitation from his Mother came two weeks too late, when the whole crew of the _Danced Yesterday _movie had been heatedly debating whether they should get a vacation or not. Mulder received the invitation from Scully (who took the call) and it quickly made up his mind. Selfish, indeed, but he wanted the movie to be over soon so that later on, it could be given enough time to be perfectly polished in post-production.

But the Massachusetts Christmas invitation was too tempting to push aside. It had been at least three years since he spent the holidays out from other than his own home. The thoughts of snow, oatmeal cookies, and evening fire appealed to him so vividly he had to cancel everything else that was up for production. Everyone needed a break. He did, too.

_Christmas at its finest_, his mind rambled, as he sat down on the fresh snow, weaving his fingers through the whiteness and watching them as they disappeared beneath the cold. Los Angeles was loved for its balmy weather, but sometimes, he wished it would be gifted with snow. There's something utterly romantic and comforting about a white Christmas. Maybe it's the song.

"My, it sure went down hard last night."

The voice from the front porch made his head snap up, and he smiled slightly when he watched Scully take cautious steps down the front porch. Her red hair was kept under a tight green bonnet, matching the thick wool sweater that framed her figure like a perfect hour glass. Scully's petite thin form was padded with extra clothing, which gave off a healthier façade for the Spunk. He had been worried about her rapid weight loss lately. The practices and rehearsals had been grueling - even for him – yet, he tried making up for it by packing a lot of carbohydrates into Scully's meal to keep her energy and health up.

A few months ago, it would be so easy to ask her what's the problem, but during the past few days, it sure didn't sound like the best idea.

"It snows like no other here in Massachusetts." To illustrate his point, he padded through a handful of snow and lunged it towards a whitened green bush a few steps in front of him. It hit the plant square in the middle, rattling the whiteness that covered its tips. "Does it snow like this in Wales?"

"Oh," Scully whispered, grinning broadly at his question. "No, in Wales, sometimes it snows like death. Temperature drops to –15 degrees Celsius and we'll all have to huddle up in front of the heater to keep our bodies from hypothermic shock." Resting her shoulder on one of the two large wooden posts before the small flight of stairs, she watched Mulder as he rubbed his limbs against the soft flurries of paleness. There he was: a big child once again.

"It is very pleasant here in Massachusetts. I like the weather here," she admonished, still watching him with a small tight-lipped smile that showed her dimples.

Mulder nodded eagerly. "Yeah! LA's freezing cold without the snow. Some people like it - John, for instance loves that… he has chionophobia _–_ snow phobia." At the sight of Scully's raised eyebrow, Mulder chuckled. "He once got frostbitten, the damn bastard. We had to fish him out of the undercurrent in Alaska years ago. That was our trip. After that he went to Mexico for a sunny vacation and met Monica."

"What do you prefer?"

"Both sides of this great country," he retorted, indignantly removing the gloved barriers of his palms and squashing his now naked flesh down the snow.

This alarmed Scully for some reasons. She half- stepped/half- ran down the creaky steps, landing in front of Mulder. Her legs gave underneath her and she fished for Mulder's hands in the snow, holding them up to her face. The cold frost of her breath met his pale cheeks, making an involuntary shiver attack his spine.

"Frostbite usually occurs when the skin does not have the necessary protection against the cold," she scolded, eyebrows meeting in dagger-like formations. Her tongue darted out to lick her drying lips.

Mulder rolled his eyes, pulling back his hands, pressing them once again down into the snow stubbornly.

"Temperature's only 4 degrees Celsius."

"Near freezing point. Enough reason to cover up."

"I'm not going to stay long enough. Just want to have some fun." His voice sounded bleated, as if a child complaining to his Mom that all he wanted to do was to take a peek of Santa's presents for him.

Scully responded as he expected. Hanging her head, she peeled off his discarded gloves from the snow-covered ground. "Body parts most affected are the hands, feet, ears, cheeks, chin, and nose, Mulder. I've been frostbitten before. In that damn –15 degrees snowfall back in Wales. It wasn't a pleasant affair," she said, keeping one glove in her back pocket. She lifted her behind to reach the other.

Mulder stuck out his lower lip. "_Nose_? Well, then, we know what part of me will get frostbitten first." When Scully didn't appear amused by his joke, he continued, "Look, I've never been frostbitten before. I'm fucking forty and I'm not starting now. Believe me."

"That's what I also told my… my Nanny back then. I ended up catatonic in an ambulance."

"What made you run out of a –15 degrees blizzard? Teenage angst?" Mulder caught some more fresh cold air into his lungs, looking away from Scully's beautifully flushed face. Damn. No more reminders for today.

Scully's eyes trailed his fingers, which were happily sinking up and down the same indentation they left on the white blanket. "Sure. Teenage angst. Stupidity. Insanity. You name it."

The vagueness of her answer made Mulder stop his hands for a moment, and then resumed it before she'd notice his wonderment. Her answers about her past had always been structured, secretive … mysterious. Like right now, he was asking for the reason why she ran out of her warm house in a blizzard, and all he's getting was how she regarded the experience.

Maybe that was one thing about her he would never figure out: he could never push her too hard to the brink.

"I'd name it if I was there," he said to lighten up the mood. Anything to set away the draft that was quickly consuming their companionship; anything at all to stir away from uncomfortable personal revelations.

"But you weren't," she pointed out, settling a finger on the tip of his nose. The scrape of soft woolly fabric on his skin sent another shiver down his spine that was worse than the last one. "So I'm here to personally make sure that you don't find yourself in that situation."

"You're here, Ms. Scully," A hand came up to grip her wrist, directing it down unconsciously to his chest. "Because I want you to taste my Mom's mouth watering oatmeal cookies. They're really good."

Actually, the real reason he brought her to this family dinner was because he couldn't bare spending the Christmas without her … and leaving her alone in LA to spend Christmas by herself was plain cruel.

"She really only bakes them during Christmas?"

"They're THAT good," he emphasized, prideful all around.

"Hey, Dana!" Emily's voice wafted from the porch. The floorboards creaked in protest as his daughter's very-pregnant form settled there.

Their heads whipped to the sound. His daughter saw their current positions and pressed the back of her hand to her cheek.

"Sorry, am I interrupting something?"

Mulder released Scully's wrist, suddenly conscious and suddenly dusting himself of the snow on his shirt. "No. We were just about finished," he lied. _Finished_ was the subtlest way of finishing their conversation.

Scully squinted her eyes at his form before returning to Emily. "Anything wrong?"

"I want you to accompany me to the nearest store. Grandma needs something for the steaks tonight." Emily ran her knuckles over the large bulge of her stomach. "At least, someone can cash in on the register when I have the need to sit down."

Mulder quickly went up on his feet, dusting the remaining flecks of snow on his sweater, even if virtually, there were no more left. "Let me do this, Em. You should be resting."

Emily considered this for a second and then began to chew on her index fingernail. Mulder sighed disapprovingly. His only daughter's all waddled up into a pregnant bundle and she's still acting as if she hadn't graduated from junior high.

"No thanks, Dad. Grandma wants me to specifically do this." Her eyes bulged and eyebrows raised, her official 'you're-needed-right-there-please-get-a-hint' expression. Mulder eyed his daughter warily, and then without breaking contact with her, he darted out an arm for Scully to get herself up.

Spunk didn't even look at his offering as she pushed herself out of the ground, turning immediately towards Emily with a big grin.

* * *

"I was summoned," Mulder exclaimed in his lowest crescendo as he strode into his Mother's kitchen. He halted as his nose caught the scent of freshly-baked oatmeal cookies, delightfully mixed with the homely cinnamon perfume of the elderly woman that stood in front of the looming stove.

Mrs. Mulder checked on the crisping brown cookies and without looking at him pointed to the Christmas tree-styled dish rag hanging on the refrigerator handle. Mulder did as his Mother asked, grabbing the Christmas tree by its top angel and tossing it towards Teena.

His Mom caught it with a laugh, great reflexes in check. "Never underestimate your old lady, Fox."

He snickered, coming to stand beside her, resting one elbow on the tiled kitchen counter. "Never did, Mom." Which was true. His Mother didn't study jujitsu _and_ karate in her middle age for nothing.

Teena smiled, crinkling the corners of her mouth, and then wiped her hands on the dirty rag. "I didn't summon you, Fox. I was trying to find a way for us to converse privately, without Emily, Jeffrey, or Dana."

"Is there something wrong, Mom?" Mulder asked, following his Mother as she sat down on the round kitchen table, taking a seat opposite her so that they could effectively converse without any barriers.

Teena handed Mulder a glass and poured sweet pink punch into it.

"No, nothing's wrong. I did talk to Emily about something when you were out yesterday."

In reflex, Mulder's heart suddenly began to play the bongo drums. "What's that?"

"She's very worried about you."

Oh, damn. There's that _worry_ part. Again.

Mulder smirked, the upheaval tiresome in itself. "I specifically instructed Em not to worry about anything. It's not advisable in her condition."

"I worried a lot when I was pregnant with you and Sam."

"And look where it gotten you," he couldn't help pointing out, "A son who married too soon and a daughter that has been invisible for almost a decade."

"I'm proud of you - both of you." Teena took a drink of the punch herself, saying the next words into the glass: "It doesn't matter to me that Samantha was a drug addict or that you were." She gripped the glass tighter as she set it down the table. "You're changing the subject, Fox."

"Well, you can't blame me for trying."

"I won't. It's natural - I'm supposed to be on your side all the time." She flashed him a sly grin, taking away the pounding inside Mulder's ribs for the time being, at least. "Emily noted yesterday that you had been troubled lately, especially on the plane ride."

His mind racked the eventful plane ride, especially the part wherein a tremulous turbulence took over their aircraft. That one had him literally chattering his teeth. "Yeah, well, she was too. The damn plane shook my brain out of my skull."

"No, about other things … like about darling Dana."

Oh. _Darling_ Dana. When his Mom started calling women _Darling_, it meant that she's already becoming attached. Not good at all. This wasn't part of his script.

Mulder sipped on his punch, cautiously weighing his words. "_Darling _Dana isn't so comfortable flying. I was worried about her so I sat down beside her to make sure she's fine."

"Emily was referring to the way you hesitate."

"Me? Hesitate?" The retort was supposed to sound incredulous, but it came out as pathetic as a mouse's squeak.

"Dana … I've noticed that she's a very troubled girl. She needs a lot of physical AND emotional attention - from you," Teena added in before Mulder got any second thoughts. "Your daughter also told me that you share a very different relationship with this lady … that you **used **to share this uniqueness with her."

"Mom, with all due respect to you and Emily - this is really none of your business."

"Fox, honey, it is my business… especially when my son's heart is concerned."

Oh, Fuck _Fox_! Now where did that come from?

"Close your mouth, honey. I know all about it."

Mulder did as his Mom asked him, having not even felt his jaw relax beforehand.

Mrs. Mulder resumed a haughty façade, tapping her well- rounded fingernails on the wood, creating an annoying scratching sound that pricked his ears.

"If you're going to ask whether Emily gave me a hint that she knows, no, she didn't. If you're going to ask me how I knew … well, I'm your Mother, for one."

"Mom," Mulder cleared his throat. His voice sounded something out of the junior high frog he dissected for Biology. "What are you trying to tell me?"

"No, what I'm trying to ask of you," she corrected, pinning a strand of white hair behind her diamond studded ear. Continuing this, her hand transferred to her eyeglasses, straightening it on her nose. "What are you so afraid of? Why are you pushing Dana away?"

Oh shit, there went his hands. Currently, they were a shaking pile of heap on top of the table, almost jostling the glass of punch before them. To hide this, he quickly darted them out of his Mother's view.

"Is this the reason why you wanted Em and the others out of the house? To talk to me like this?"

Like when he was a teenager and he had his first crush, his first obsession. Like the time Teena discovered his addiction to heroine. Like the time she found out about Diana's pregnancy… like …

"Yes. If there were the 'others' here with us, you'd be too distracted - you already are with Dana."

"I'd…" he trailed off, raising his eyes up to the ceiling, studying the delicate squares that reminded him of golden-brown, sugar coated waffles. "I'd love to get advices from you, of course … but, hell, Mom," he bent down, staring at her similar hazel eyes, "I don't need one. I can handle this. What I feel for Dana … I could control."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"What?"

"You can't control what you are feeling for her. That's why you're doing the stupidest thing possible: pushing her away. I can see that you're hurting yourself and her - don't you see how much she feels for you?"

Mulder had to laugh at that. Laugh. Yeah, laugh. When Mrs. Mulder sternly sentenced her lips to thin lines, he stopped.

"What Scully feels for me is _need_. I'll admit that we both need each other. I bring her comfort as much as she brings me comfort. However, this cannot transcend how …how, uh, how …"

"How you feel for her."

He grinned sheepishly, finding more reasons to be awkward in the conversation. "Fine. How I feel for her." Awkwardness started to tighten its grip around his neck and he had to hide his face from his Mom, running both hands through his hair. "It's … it's … nothing, really. I don't want to bring her in."

"Bring her in?"

"Bring her into **this**. It's too deep that I myself cannot fish it out." He jerked strands of hair in between the ridges of his fingers. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation."

"Are you afraid that you don't know her enough?"

"No … oh God, Mom, can we end this right now?!" He rose up from his chair and resisted the urge to throw the damn thing to the wall. Heading right towards the door, Teena halted him with a hand to his arm, firmly pulling her back to the kitchen.

"Stop it, Fox. Stop this. I don't want to see you hurting yourself OR her."

Finding nothing else to snap back, Mulder straightened his form and turned around to stand face-to-face with his Mother. Mrs. Mulder stood up straight, matching his arrogant posture.

"I'm not hurting either one of us. I'm doing THIS for us!" he emphasized, making sure that they vibrated in the thin air as each was formed.

"Stop fighting. Stop waging this, this superficial war." Teena hesitated before reaching out to her son, placing a hand on the crook of his neck and shoulder. "Quit. For once in your life, quit, Fox. Do it for yourself … if not, for her. This is not going to get your anywhere. She needs you."

Mulder flinched at the words "need."

"Fox?" Mrs. Mulder said, gazing up at him worriedly. "Do you know that Dana writes?"

This caught his attention. With a finger to his chin, he remembered the night he discovered that there was a small, very promising write-up about _Danced Yesterday_ in the Los Angeles Times and wanted to share it with her. He was halfway into her bedroom when he noticed that she was gathering pieces of paper into her old backpack, trying her best to answer him without him having to see that she was doing something. He ignored it and proceeded to read the article to her with infused glee and excitement.

"Yes, I do know that she writes these letters … but I don't ask, I don't think she'd like my invasion of her privacy."

"It's for her sister, Melissa. She told me," Teena simply put, her eyes warming at Mulder's second surprised face of the day. "See? All you have to do is ask her."

Mulder realized the weight of his Mother's words and suddenly felt his chest tighten, churning up his stomach with it. He broke free from his Mother's grasp, taking deep breaths, soothing himself. When he was already in a semblance of calm, he left the kitchen without any words.

* * *

The fire crackled in its own domain, seating itself in a throne of sooty wooden branches, gurgling more flames with each passing second that aimlessly passed. Its imaginary crown rose to greater proportions when Mulder inserted another freshly chopped log, tucking it firmly within the blazing inferno.

In response, the fire seemed to gurgle and then hampered back to its makeshift throne.

"Are you still cold?" Mulder said, his voice scratchy and low, positioning himself on the weaved rug Bill Mulder gifted Teena years ago from Persia. Resting his head on his hands, he rested one foot atop the other, watching his bare toes contrast against the fire's yellowness.

Scully laid stretched, facing him, one hand resting casually on her hip bone. "I'm not cold, Mulder. You are." That hand on her hip bone crawled towards her stomach, stifling a cough that threatened to dispute the silence surrounding them.

Hearing the sounds of struggle from her throat, Mulder rose up to sit, scrutinizing the rashes on Scully's cheeks. "I … I really appreciate what you did for Emily yesterday." He made sure that she heard the ache in his voice, the guilt in each intonation.

Scully and Emily headed home alone yesterday from shopping, since Jeff decided that he was going to wait for the midnight sale of his favorite musical cassette tapes. Agreeing to this, the girls plowed through the snow, with Emily at the wheel. By mistake, his daughter shifted the car backwards during traffic and landed themselves into a heap of roadside snow, trapping the car efficiently there.

Knowing Emily's condition, Scully did all the job herself with the help of a few bystanders: pushing the car, getting the most snow on her face, getting wet with clammy water by the damn storeowner who didn't clearly see through his glasses that the moving _snowman_ was actually a woman.

Those were just half of their misadventures.

Once they were home, Mulder was taken aback by the chattering Scully and had her back in the car for the hospital. When she was effectively talked into calming down by their impromptu trip to the hospital, she was diagnosed with frostbite (of all the things she could catch), suffered a mild fever the whole Christmas, and was now recuperating with inflammations on her pale cheeks.

Since she slept the whole day under Mulder's care, by nine in the evening, she was all up and chirpy. The household had gone to their respective beds, leaving Mulder to aid Scully's overactive energy from being bedridden for twenty-four hours straight.

Mulder grabbed the quilt from the loveseat behind them, draping it over Scully's thin body. She snuggled up into the warmth it bought, gazing up at him with her large baby blues.

"I really am," Mulder continued, "you did everything yourself … I mean, if that was anyone, she would've called for someone else to do all the pushing and all the …" Suddenly at lost for words, Mulder sighed deeply. "I just really am thankful."

"Frostbite's not bad." She coughed again, this time so hard that she had to put a hand on her chest. "… You know what could make me feel better right … now?"

"What?" Mulder eagerly asked.

"That you'd … get frostbitten too …" Another cough. Then a smile that ended all smiles.

Mulder thought about this. If Scully wanted him to go out there, soak himself in cold water and thrust himself into the snow for twenty-four hours, he'd do it. If Scully wanted him to go into that reigning fire and try to steal those damn logs, he'd do it.

"Hey, I'm just … kidding," she said, craning her neck up to watch his expression. "It was no bother, really. Emily was pregnant. I wasn't. You see?"

"And you got this fever during Christmas." He trailed a finger down her cheek lightly, mindful of the sensitive areas. "Some Christmas you got."

She closed her eyes when his fingertips rested on her porcelain neck, stroking lightly. He missed this, missed the physical contact with her. The last time had been in that damn airplane towards North Texas. How long was that ago?

Scully's scratchy voice shattered Mulder's reverie. "I got to taste your Mom's famous oatmeal cookies."

He applied pressure on where his fingertips were placed, over her clavicle, feeling the warm blood gushing across the intricate network of blue veins that were crisscrossing on her neck. Scully hitched a breath upon feeling this, only to be stolen by another mind-shattering cough. Mulder immediately pulled back.

"I wanted to bring you along to give you an acceptable Christmas. Something you'll remember, at least. Something that'll relax your tired physique," he chattered through her coughing, mindlessly saying those words without even stopping to think whether she understood him. "You've dancing hard the past months, and you, you have lost some weight."

To illustrate this point, Mulder touched her again, this time on her flat belly, stroking her the taut skin above her ribs. Her skin tensed as he stroked slowly, raising the turgid hairs on the back of his spine with what he's doing.

He should be the king of bravado, the man seating on that throne of fire in front of them. All he was doing right now was playing with fire, fire without bravado, fire without smoke with this woman, testing out his Mother's theory, that all he had to do was ask.

_All I had to do was ask._

Scully's blistered face contorted into a strange expression as his hands dipped to her sides, holding her effectively to his body. He scooted a little bit closer to her, touching his hip bone with her waist, just enough to feel her warmth. To become familiar with it as he strangely once was.

"Scully?"

Another cough, gentling as his words came across her ear.

"Yeah?"

"How did you spend Christmas in Wales?"

This earned him the infamous Spunk eyebrow.

Mulder countered this with his also infamous puppy- dog face, engorged with pitiful hazel eyes and a jutting lower lip - one he'd never admit to doing and one she'd never admit to being totally vulnerable to.

As expected, Scully's eyebrow released its hold on her forehead, settling back to its original position. "A big Christmas tree, lots and lots of snow, eggnogs and gifts … nothing much. Nothing much to remember."

"How can that be? Are you that selective in your memory?" He couldn't help snickering as he was reminded of his Producer's 'selective amnesia.'

"No." Her response was registered too quickly, too defiantly. "It's just that there's not much to remember at all from our Christmases."

She trembled against his grip - from the cold or from his presence, he had no idea - and without further intuition, Mulder laid down beside her, wrapping his strong arms around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer to his front. Scully's involuntary reflex was to push him away, but when his lips rested on the back of her neck, she digressed into his grasp, falling once more into his warmth.

They both gave themselves minutes to adjust to the nearly pristine sensation of being this close to one another again. Mulder calmed himself down, burying his nose into the scent of her, her unique scent – strawberry-syrup shampoo, processed cucumber bath gel, baby powder to ease away the stickiness of wearing wool.

This was how it should be. Not him pushing her away or vice versa. This. Her in his arms, under his care, within his love. No further ado, please. He didn't care anymore about pulling her into the depth of what he's feeling. As long as she didn't get any idea that there was a different, hierarchic aspect to their relationship, everything's all right. Everything could be as it was.

No one's getting hurt. No one's falling. No one's getting too involved.

With a half-sigh/half-moan, Scully sank into his arms like a pillow, moving her softness against his muscles. Mulder smiled into her skin, gripping her closer to his body. His mind was too tired to process what they were doing, his body too tired from a whole day of playing nanny to even contemplate on reacting, yet his heart was alive - pumping swiftly into her shoulder blade.

"Christmas had been a boring holiday for my family. My Mother died during the holidays when I was barely two-years-old. My oldest memories of December are of my older brother and sister bickering, my other brother crying in our Nanny's arms, and of a white coffin surrounded by wreaths of lilies in front of me." Scully spoke softly, tenderly, that it even eased the obvious pain she was feeling from this memory. Her voice almost fell in synch with the threatening fire, bouncing wicked shadows on their skin.

But what surprised him the most was that Scully was even telling him a story. She usually was not very excited about her past. She'd rather hear about his misadventures than tell hers.

"Your Mom's dead?" Mulder asked, stroking the tender part of her stomach. He felt Scully's muscles tighten underneath his touch.

"Yes, in case I haven't told … you." Scully rested a hand over his to halt him from stroking. "Christmas brings with me the memory of sobbing … lost … I was screaming my head off for hours searching for my Mother. I was rarely out of her arms when I was a baby. I was always at her bosom, clinging to her for everything I got. She was my life."

"You love her very much. You spent so little time with her and yet, you still love her as if you see her every day."

"There comes a point that sometimes I think it's not worth it - to continue loving a ghost. To continue giving her my life. But I've learned that there are many reasons for undisputed love, Mulder," she breathed out, turning around in his embrace. Mulder tensed when her action came over him.

Scully wanted to face him … after months of hiding from her, after months of pushing her away - this was too raw for him. Too intense. Mulder resisted this, pinning her midway, her back to the floor.

"Mulder?"

"I'm … I'm sorry, I know I've been an asshole the past months … but Scully," he trailed off, suddenly finding his throat dry. Dammitt. He closed his eyes in fervent prayer, going over imagined choices of getting out of this situation:

A. An alien abduction scenario, complete with those idiosyncratic reports of bright white lights and hollow figures that suspiciously resemble Peewee. He was sure that Scully wouldn't be able to save him.

"Mulder," Scully hushed him. This enabled her to complete her turn, facing his fearful facial expression, setting her nose directly on his. For a moment Mulder had an attack of insecurities - from his too big of a nose, Scully's outpouring of care for him, his large toes, his deep love for her, this …

B. How about a terrible snowstorm? A terrible, terrible one that they'd have to panic and stand up almost immediately. They'd try to find ways to pack in the heater, to do something other than lie down in the damn rug - wait, then they'd find more time to talk about this because they'd surely be stranded.

He was going say it now. Complete with the British accent: Fuck. Fuuuuck.

"You mean a lot to me, probably more than anyone else I've ever encountered in my life, except for my Mother." She sighed, brushing away a strand of brown hair from his eyes. He fidgeted when her skin mingled with his, his nose sniffing unconsciously the scent of cucumber. "And I know that you have your own reasons for doing whatever you're doing. I stopped complaining about the way you're treating me because I understood that I'd have to give you the space to think about the situation - whatever it is - if I ever want to find out about it."

He reflexively locked his irises with her, searching for the truth in her words. What he saw would probably be the most compelling message he had ever seen in another person's eyes - pure, stripped-down, basic love. He cannot define its nature or its inhibition - whether it's for friendship or passion; however, he didn't care. That softness in her eyes made his own water.

C. Stay where he was now and let her listen to his heart. He might not be able to find the words today… but at least, he could show her.

C's definitely the best choice of them all.

Mulder used all of his faltering will to pause the tears underneath his eyelids. Even if it didn't really matter - Scully saw his eyes watering anyway - he still didn't want to show her the underlying vulnerability he possessed when it came to her.

"Sorry, Scully," he repeated, climbing his fingertips up to the middle of her shoulder blades, letting it stay there for a few minutes, until he pushed her towards his form, drawing her in a warm hug. It was warmer than the fire's caress; warmer than the quilt.

She should feel his love. If not hear or know or see, at least feel. No one deserved this more than her.

His face was in her hair, breathing in her unique scent. With a muffled voice, he was able to talk. "You'll always be important to me. I'm so sorry. I'd … I'm … I really am."

"Oh Mulder … I never held you at fault." She gently pushed his head away from her and once again took in his hazel eyes. "It's Christmas. We shouldn't be doing this to ourselves. We should be happy."

Mulder withered a smile. "I'm … I'm happy."

If she asked him to define happiness, he'd be able to answer it in three words: _Dana Katherine Scully._

But she didn't and he secretly was thankful because he wouldn't know how to get those thoughts off his tongue anyway. All smoke and no fire. Some bravado Superman had.

Scully's smile morphed it into a lilies and carnations grin on her face. "I'm happy too, but happy as in _happy_. Christmas happy."

"So happy you would probably believe that there's Santa Claus?"

She giggled, girly and spunky at the same incredulous time. "Yeah, I guess. Whatever."

Mulder agreed softly, gathering her within his arms again, once again in their favorite spooning position. When their breaths settled into a steady rhythm, he began to murmur in his lowest tone. All the while, he stared outside of the window beside the fireplace, watching as snowflakes kissed the native ground, gathering themselves in opaque blankets of whiteness in front of the house, reminding him of something stored away years ago: "My Dad was a special kind of man – he stood out in a crowd. You'd enter a multitude of people and get swarmed in the middle, yet you'd feel that he'd be somewhere in that sea of strangers. He was a familiarity, a piece of home anywhere you go.  
"He told me to promise him that I find myself a decent family - a beautiful girl and lots of children. He dreamed of a large house that had twenty kids running around bearing his surname. A big man with simple dreams. He wanted me to study Psychology, to learn French, so we could share this secret language. Dad spoke three languages. He wasn't as good as Monica Doggett, but just as graceful.  
"He was gone when I completed my course, gone when I was able to speak French fluently, gone when I had Emily. I didn't have a decent family, I didn't get a beautiful girl and lots of kids , … but at least, he could've seen where I am now."

"I'm sure that wherever he is, he's very, very proud of you."

He smiled at that, murmuring the next words into the back of her neck. "There … there's this something he told me during our last Christmas together. It was past midnight and we were seating in front of the fire, trying to warm up. He told me, '_Mort mai recevoir mon corps au loin certains jours, mais mon aimer volonté être en au langer, en au flocon de neige, en au flamme, en au coeur... toujours chuchoter leur vérité pour vous, mon garçon._'"

He heard Scully return his smile. "What does that mean?" she asked.

"It means 'Death may take my body away someday, but my love will always be in the wind, in the snowflakes, in the flames, in your heart ... forever whispering its truth to you, my boy.'" Mulder swallowed as these words stirred something deep inside of him, a feeling that he hadn't awaken in a long time. "Took me five years to figure out. As soon as we crept up back to our beds, I wrote it down so that I will never forget to translate it someday. Thank god for my good memory.  
"If you ask me if it's worth it - to love my father with this intensity even after he had died - yes, it is. And yes, there are many reasons for undisputed love, Scully."

Right at that moment, a snowflake dragged down the windowsill as the fire gurgled embers once more.

Mulder kissed the back of Scully's head, listening to her breathe slowly, coughing sometimes, afterwards making throaty sounds that told him that she had fallen asleep.

_And yes, there were so many reasons for undisputed love,_ Mulder thought as he gazed at Scully's sleeping form, _too much to count._

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE**


	29. Chapter Twenty Six

**CHAPTER TWENTY SIX:**

* * *

January 8, 1986

Dear Melissa,

Is it just by blind faith or this so-called undisputed love that I am still writing to you even if I know that you will never reply to my letters? It has been over a year since I left Wales behind to explore this new life, to save myself or you, here in the land of opportunities. Yet, you have never replied to even one of my monthly letters - not even once, Melissa! It has been a year and I don't know how you, Nana, Charles, Bill, and your baby are!

This wasn't really part of the deal when you told me to swear on Mother's grave, was it? This was just all about the money, wasn't it? So that you, in some form or another, could still declare that you hold responsibility over me, right? Is this only about Mother?

Oh God. What am I writing?

Who am I to accuse you of doing this only for Mother when all the while, I have only been doing this for Mother, too. If I had the ability to erase all my past, you know that in an instant I'd never would have known you. I'd never be who I am today and I'd never be what I am now. I'd do this in a heartbeat, even if it means giving up my one true love: dancing.

This is also an unconscious decision: even if I willed myself to try to stop loving you blokes years ago, I can't. There's this hidden part within my heart alarmingly misses you all with every minute I dance my arse off here. Sometimes, I even understand why I still love you, despite all the hate there is.

You DO mean a lot to me, Melissa. You are family. God knows that I have started praying again ever since I left my own bedroom and was on that bloody plane bound for Los Angeles. I love you. I shouldn't – I have every goddamn reason on this planet for me not to – but I do.

Mr. Mulder once told me that he believed in "undisputed" love, that there are many reasons for it to thrive, to survive. It made me think about what I still feel for you.

I came here to America to escape, to dance, and to live again. Now that I have gotten my chance, now that I feel that I do have the right to survive in this world, I wonder whether I deserve it. With everything that I have done and that's happened to me, do I really deserve this?

I've stopped talking to God years ago. I've stopped praying, I've stopped practicing our religion when my world fell apart. He has given me too much, together with the pain and sufferings, without taking anything else for Himself. So I gave Him what I can. I gave Him back the pain and sufferings.

I am not sure if I deserve this second chance. I am not sure whether I should take it or ignore it. I hear Him calling … in my heart.

And when I hear that I call, I know that this is really meant for me. I may not deserve it, but it is meant for me.

So I continue dancing for this second chance and not for the past anymore. And I must keep on dancing. Because he's there – Fox Mulder – he's there and he's a big part of this second chance. Sometimes, I think he's the reason why I feel that I do deserve this. Sometimes, I feel that he's the reason why I _want_ to feel that I do deserve this.

Yet, in a month, I'll be losing him. I'm so afraid, Melissa. This fear is so intense it can kill me. I don't want to lose him. He's the only one I have … he's the only one I _want_ to have.

_Mama, helpu fi rhydd i teimlad er ef. Helpu fi rhydd i cariad er ef. Rhyw ffordd hynn ffordd, fi ewyllys cael ycyfle ar cynnal ef._

Signed,  
Dana

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER TWENTY SIX**


	30. Chapter Twenty Seven: WB Studios

**CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN:**

* * *

Studio 018  
Warner Brothers Studios  
Los Angeles  
February 18, 1986  
Tuesday

Frank Sinatra's _Blue Moon_ hummed in the background, sending throaty whispers and calming harmonies inside the solemn make-shift office; once in a while its lyrics darted from his chapped lips, fingers drumming the memorized keys on the desk.

"Mhmm," Mulder agreed with the other person on the phone, crossing his ankles on top of his desk and his index finger finding that exact spot on his chin without fail. "So she's on her way here now? How did she do, Mr. Burrows?"

The solemnity of his _Blue Moon_ was shattered by John, who entered his office without any knocks. He brought with him a series of noises from the construction crew just parallel from Mulder's office.

Mulder grimaced at the noise, to which Doggett quickly closed the door at.

Back on the receiver, the Director swiveled his rotating chair around so that he wouldn't be distracted by his AD's presence. "You loved her, huh? That's good to hear. When is this episode going to air? Oh, on February. Thank you. Why, yes. If all goes well, we'd love to do another one with you. Thanks again. Bye."

Mulder rested the phone gently down the cradle, just as the song progressed to its saxophone instrumental bridge.

"Hey, John. What's up?"

His friend traced his brown, unruly hair with a finger. "ET's outside. I told them to give you an hour's head start. Is that enough time for Dana to return?"

"I think so," Mulder answered, closing his eyes as the saxophone interval deepened. This was his favorite part of the song.

"Mulder, concentrate, please." John strode up to his desk and tapped gently on the fine wood, a few inches from his crossed ankles. "Who was that on the phone?"

"Mr. James Burrows from _Cheers_. They wrapped up the episode a few hours ago, and he called to comment on how good _my star_ is. He said that he's never seen anyone dance like she does." He smiled proudly, unashamedly showing his admiration for Spunk. "If we'd allow it, they want to have her back."

John grinned back, nodding his head gently against the beat. "Good. Now, if you can get up from this song and meet with ET outside, we'll work more effectively. We're wrapping up in a few days, Mulder."

The Director kept his eyes closed, ignoring John's hidden insinuation. The constant reminders of the movie's end had the subversive effect of gashing a wound on his open heart. He refused to discuss the topic, since if he opened it up, everyone will deem him as selfish. They worked off their professional asses against his torturous time frame, his _no-one-quits_ persona, and he's afraid that if he did address the end, everyone might see the REAL reason why he didn't want filming to end…

The reason's a 5 foot 3 inches, twenty-year-old redhead that in just one year had managed to embed herself with his life so intricately that it hurt so fucking much to think of even just letting her go. Imagine how painful it would be to _physically _let her go. He might get a heart attack.

The last bars of the song filtered the suddenly stuffy office, forcing Mulder to open his eyes. John was staring at him with concern while scratching an invisible spot on his neck.

_Blue moon, now I'm no longer alone  
__Without a dream in my heart  
Without a love of my own_

"Okay," he said slowly, stretching one arm behind him and blindly clicking the cassette tape off. The next song's relaxing keys were cut off with a loud 'thump' as the tape was ejected from the player. "Let's do ET."

* * *

The ET reporter assigned to do the _Danced Yesterday_ story, Cantrell, was obviously a Pendrell fan. The all American blond and blue-eyed boy was practically prancing around whenever their own brown-eyed media darling boy was onscreen. By the sixth time that Mulder had to cut the ongoing scene and they had to temporarily usher the damn reporter outside of the studio, everyone inside the set was already handing down bets on whether Cantrell was going to ask Pendrell to dinner or not.

Mulder shook his head as Scully approached him from the scene, her thin petite form clad in a modern ballerina costume. Her hair was stuck in a neat bun, cradled with large diamond clips with fancy trimmings that fell down to the sides of her face, illuminating her blue eyes. The costume was lime green leggings that perfectly fit the curve of Scully's body, down to the protrusion of her hip bones. Ethereal fabric fell on her sides as a make-shift tutu, gentling with colors of the rainbow.

"I'm betting $20. He's going to bloody ask him out," she joked, grabbing a tissue from the table behind him to wipe the beads of sweat on her forehead. Mulder took some tissue and helped Scully in her task.

"You've been working non-stop for the whole day now. First, at the recording studio for the chords of _Danced Yesterday_ with the Bee Gees, and then a while ago with _Cheers._ We're not hurrying this up, Scully. Tell me if you want to rest and we'll move the shooting tomorrow."

She grinned at his concern, bending her neck accordingly as his wiping went down to the trails of their hard day's work on her clavicle. "No thanks, Mulder. If we want to go according to schedule, shooting ends today. And then tomorrow's our wrap party. I want to be fresh for that one."

Mulder acknowledged this by trailing the tissue over her nose, making Scully's grin turn into all those lilies and carnations he adored. "Aren't you the least bit tired? Did you take your pills? Your multivitamins?"

"No, yes, and yes. I'm fine," she pressed on, removing his hand from her face and holding it firmly in hers. "I appreciate your concern, but I do want to finish this. I know that you do."

Yes, he did, but if she's just doing this for him …

"And no, I'm not doing it only for you," Scully said, startling Mulder out of his thoughts. "And even if I am doing it for you, who cares? The crew will fucking kiss my feet for it."

"Yes, they will. I'm afraid they will. I'm betting that they also want to freshen up for tomorrow, huh?"

"They are so damn excited about it that …"

Scully paused, catching Mulder's eyes drifting away from her face. She followed his gaze from above her head and slowly swirled around.

Right in front of her nose was the fucking ET camera they supposedly had given the boot about oh, what? Five minutes ago? And fucking Cantrell was grinning at them with his too-pearly-white whites, raising his brown eyebrows expectantly, as if asking them, _w__hy the hell are you stopping? _

_Stopping?_ Mulder's mind raged, his fists curling up into two flesh balls, pushing his knuckles into Scully's soft palms. Does Cantrell want his mother-frigging career stopped? He'd gladly hit the guy in between his eyes hard enough to ensure that his career stopped long enough for him to remember this moment for the rest of his life!

Scully sensed the tension in Mulder's muscles, squeezing his hand for one last time before letting it go, all attention intent on the camera. They were both deciding whether they'd trash the camera first or shoot Cantrell right about that damn time.

The asshole spoke finally, after eyeing them inquisitively. "Mr. Mulder, with all due respects, but are you two…?" Cantrell momentarily tucked the microphone under his armpit, holding his two index fingers up in the air and sticking them together right before his eyes. "Like this?"

Behind him, the camera man - concealed under layers of neon-colored sweaters and a frizzy baseball cap - gave the pair a lopsided, shit-eating grin. This particular grin reminded Mulder of the same grin Alex Kryceck gifted him with, together with that "you look at her funny" comment.

"No, Mr. Cantrell. We are NOT in a relationship," Scully answered, backing away from Mulder to illustrate this. "And if that film makes it on air, **I** will personally kick your ass so hard you'll remember every damn day what hit you."

Cantrell dripped back, his blue eyes widening in surprise.

Mulder couldn't help but to smile smugly. Constant reminders of Scully's Spunkiness would always tickle him in the weirdest way.

"I've heard something about your attitude, Ms. Scully," Cantrell scorched back, his candy-sweet TV tone menacingly dripping lower. "They tell me that you do great prancing, but you have this, this weird aura on you. _Spunk._ That's what they call you, right?"

The Director stepped right in front of the argument, licking his lips to control himself from hitting anyone. "Cantrell, you are a guest here in our set. Please give due respect. I've had long ties with ET and the only reason you are here is because of my loyalties to your TV show. You know very well that I make one phone call and you're done with your career as you know it."

This ripped away the arrogant façade of the Cantrell, and for what it seemed like the first time throughout the whole day, the man suddenly realized who he's talking to. His head dipped, chin meeting his chest.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Mulder. I got carried away," he apologized, gazing back and forth between Mulder and Spunk. "Ms. Scully … if you still would allow me to get this story …"

"Of course," the Director finalized, waving a nonchalant hand to end the conversation. "It doesn't matter, really. I'd even let Harry give you his autographed picture."

The reporter's eyes brightened at this, and he did a u-turn to his cameraman, his ears almost clapping themselves at his obvious delight. "Harry Pendrell's autograph … wow!" The two ET crewmen ushered themselves out of Mulder and Scully's way, gentling towards Walter who was talking with Harry.

Mulder returned his attention to Scully, who was staring at him as if he had the word "NUTS" engraved on his forehead.

"What?" he goofily punctuated, taking her gingerly by the arm to lead her towards the set. According to the large overhaul wall clock a few meters from them, the ten-minute break he had set up to get rid of the annoying ET reporter was almost up.

Scully scratched at the base of her hairspray-riddled hair, loosening a single strand from the tight bun. "I don't get it. You let him off easily. What the hell's up with that?" Her accent gave a glorious twang to the word 'hell' as she restricted her emotions.

Once they reached the set, the make-up artists started to swarm in on Scully, forcing her to sit down on the Director's chair. Mulder stepped back, scrutinizing the frantic make-up session taking place before him. One artist started smothering Scully's auburn hair with more hairspray, pinning the dislocated strand in place. The others worked on her foundation, blood red lipstick, dark eyeliner, the visible shape of diamonds across her forehead.

Mulder crossed his arms, "He doesn't deserve our time or energy, _darling_."

Scully raised her eyebrow at his new pet name (actually, he's only using it to annoy her), only to be scolded by the chief make-up artist to keep her face put.

* * *

He once noted how he saw Scully's pure soul whenever she danced, how her face shaped into the most perfect of expressions whenever she shook her waist, how she smiled whenever she did what she did best.

Dancing was her life, and whenever she danced, her high regard for her craft showed.

Everyone in the set held their breaths as Scully continued to frolic in lucidly memorized steps, her smile genuine and carefree, her movements almost hypnotizing. Moments like these never failed to happen on set: whenever Scully danced, it was as if the whole world would stop and stare at her. Passion like this did not come from talent alone.

This was one of the most complicated parts of the elaborate production numbers. Most of the dancing sequences were shot in a real-live theater down in Sunset Boulevard, but for this particular shot - one that involved Scully close-ups and intricate steps that bordered on body contortion - for technicality and safety reasons, they decided that the studio would house it better. For more safety and, this time, budget reasons, they also decided to shoot it last among all the scenes.

The classical music of Beethoven droned on in the background, and when Scully lifted her pointed toe mid-air, Mulder's blood rushed to his head. He recognized this step. After seeing so many rehearsals of the production numbers, he knew this step by heart. It's the triple back flip step that would turn the ballet sequence into an exotic dancing party.

It's the part that Scully always complained about. After first executing the exhibition, her left leg started hurting. Whenever they practiced it, they had to stop for a few minutes for Scully to recuperate.

He offered a double, at least someone who could shoulder the job for Scully since she danced her whole day away like a madwoman, but she relented. She preferred to do her "own stunts."

Placing a tense hand on the cameraman to make sure that he captured this moment, Mulder mouthed a slow word that caught the corner of his star's eye:

"Go."

Seeing this, Scully lifted her arms above her head, tracing dainty patterns on the air with her fingertips. She inhaled lungful of breaths, glanced at Mulder with a small smile tracing her lips, and lunged into the air backwards. The first attempt of the back flip was perfectly done - she landed on the ground with her two feet aligned, only to once again flip backwards. The second one was also nicely done, only a few inches lower than the last one.

Mulder's breath stilled itself when the anticipation grew. He knew that if Scully wouldn't be able to execute this step, they'd have to hire a double. If she did, then the movie's production process was done.

The third one passed right in front of their eyes, Scully's whole body flushing with the extended effort.

To their shock, she was able to extend the flip midair, garnering another small circle before landing on her feet - shakier than ever, but upright. Damn upright!

Mulder tried to find his voice quickly. All the eyes that were fixated on Scully were now on him.

"Cut!" He sounded like a mouse squeaking for cheese. "That's a wrap!"

Cheers echoed in the studio. The cameraman stopped filming the scene.

Scully collapsed to the ground.

Fuck!

Mulder panicked. He ran towards Spunk and in no time was beside her, shoving his knees on the ground and demanding what's wrong.

"My leg … it's fucking hurt," she staggered out, restraining the obvious pain in her system with an unbelievably calm voice. She motioned to her left leg and Mulder quickly barked at anyone who's behind him to get him scissors.

Someone handed him the tool and he tenderly placed the injured leg on his lap. With the scissors, he cut out the leggings and revealed some sort of inflammation on her white skin. Mulder touched the red part with his fingertip, only to leave Scully wincing.

"FUCK YOU, Mulder! God, that hurts!" She flinched, pushing his hand away. Mulder bit his lip, noticing how disproportionate her left leg was from her right. It was about an inch larger than her thigh's normal size.

"Someone call a doctor please! We need a doctor!"

"911?" A voice asked behind him, startled. Scully shook her head, and he caught her reaction, brushing away sweat from her forehead.

"No, just a doctor," he answered back. When that was confirmed, he took Scully in his arms and lifted her up towards his make-shift office.

* * *

He used to dream about her every night. Every time he closed his eyes he would see her face on his, her breath dangerously close to his lips - and that would be the only sensation he would feel: her breath against his skin before the sweet assault of her tongue in his mouth, opening and tearing him deliriously apart. Then, as he expected, they would make love on the grassy field of that strangely familiar place. Every night, it never failed. She'd shout words of love for him and he'd shout them back, happy to be this free with the woman he loved. Mulder had never been given a chance like that before.

But he'd wake up, every morning, drenched in sweat and with a raging erection that was poised to cut glass. He'd be confused, arguing silently whether what he saw in his sleep was a dream in itself or a nightmare. He began to lose sleep after a whole month of having those vivid dreams. By December, he was a wreck.

Scully was worried about him, but he pushed her concern away. He didn't want concern, especially when it came from her.

Ever since he'd made peace with Scully and himself about his feelings, the dreams were gone. It was as if he was given an Oscar and then suddenly, the award-giving body decided that he didn't deserve it: _woops, sorry, we're giving it to someone else_! And he's not going to deny it, but he sometimes missed those dreams.

Mulder stared at an empty spot beside Scully's wrapped leg. Every single movement she was making on the trundle bed emitted a certain pin prick of pain on the humongous violet bruise, creating on her face the sexiest grimaces of pain he had ever seen.

Will he be considered a psycho if he'd admit to himself that the look Scully's having from the pain on her leg was actually somewhat equal to the looks his Scully "dream version" was giving him every time she was coming?

Oh, shit, Fox Mulder. He was a fucking psychopath. They have had a term for his particular damnation in psychology … what do they call that again?

"Mulder," Scully broke the incessant mantra in his head, her tone sharp and fiery. "Will you please stop staring at my leg as if it had been butchered? If you give me another one of your BLOODY pup … _I'm-so-sad_ eyes, I swear I'm going to hop right over there and give you a good bonking!"

Yes, I'd like that very much, please.

He smacked himself on the forehead, resisting the urge to hit his head on the thin plywood walls. The damn thing wouldn't hold out on his thick noggin.

"Mulder?" This time, her voice was soft, anxious. "Are you okay? You have been distant for the past few minutes … I, is …" she trailed off, licking her lips and suddenly finding the spot Mulder was staring at interesting too.

"Is it … the movie? Aren't you happy that it's over?"

Hearing these words, he shook his head as an immediate response. His surroundings were a big blur as he walked towards the desk and sat down on the wooden chair, the rickety old thing creaking when he bent backwards. He raised his eyes to the gray ceiling, counting phantom cracks on the cement. "No, I mean … yes, for you people. There's still post-production to look forward to and the soundtrack. There are still many things to finish, Scully. It's not over yet."

He heard her wince first, before finding her voice.

"But is it for _us_?"

It was his turn to wince.

"Scully," he started, his voice an icy warning. Why in the hell did she have to be so blunt about it? Couldn't she at least hold some of that frankness to herself?

"I don't want to talk about this today. We're all tired," he argued, his hands shaking as he opened one desk drawer and spilled onto the surface a pile of sunflower seeds. He shoved the plastic XXXL bag back into the drawer and closed it with an indulgent snap, before chewing on the seeds - shoving three of them into his mouth all at the same time.

"I'm the one who's supposed to be tired here," Scully pointed out, lifting her uninjured leg up to meet with her chest. "I got my leg sprained and I was dancing my whole day out of this fucking hemisphere. I _want_ to talk about this."

"Fine," he almost growled, capturing another seed in between his lips, glistening the sides like an Egyptian King's grapes, "talk."

Scully tapped her freshly-buffed fingernails on her bony knee, and for a weird moment, Mulder thought she was watching him eat his snack with too much curiosity.

"I want to know about what's going to happen after this. Between us." The way she said 'us' made a shiver run down Mulder's back, jolting him out of eating his snack. Goddammitt, why did even the word 'us' have to sound so good when it was coming from her?

Mulder bit into the seed, a loud cracking noise resonating from his action. "We'll always be friends, Scully."

She bent her head exasperatedly to the right, as if that statement was whispered into her ear every single day of her life on earth. "I know that … I don't mean, oh fuck … what I mean, Mulder, is …" Her blue eyes tilted to one angle, giant searchlights wandering over his fatigued face. "Our arrangement … what about your expense reports? About, about… my things?"

"Are you okay with that apartment a block away from the Manor?" He was surprised that his voice sounded as cool as a block of ice. Years in show business had given him great pointers in acting.

Scully blinked frantically at his question, probably taking note of the fact that he just ignored her own queries. "Uhh, yes, I think I like that apartment. When …"

Before she could complete the sentence, he already finished it for her. "Tomorrow. After the party."

A seed cracked in between his drying lips.

Scully twirled a glittering strand of auburn hair around her index finger.

"So that's that? I'm leaving the Manor tomorrow?"

Mulder's next seed was digested completely, husks and all. "Yes. Unless you want to prolong your stay so that you could pack more thoroughly, though I don't see any need for it." He wanted to shove a fistful of sunflower seeds into his mouth when those words sprang free, but all he could do was to pave his elbows on the desk and stare at her eye-to-eye. "Are you fine with that?"

For a minute, he thought he saw the truth in her eyes - he thought he saw them glisten into an array of ocean blue, he thought he saw her lick her lips in trepidation, wanting to appeal this, wanting to take this decision back.

But his imagination must really be messed up, if that's the case.

Her stature straightened, and despite of her present injury, Scully never looked as imposing as she did that second, when she stamped the truth on his innermost fears.

"Yes," she replied, taking his gaze and locking it with hers sternly. "I'm fine with that."

His whole world decided to fall apart on that very second.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN**

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you for all of you out there reading and reviewing Spunk! Here's the official countdown:

Two more chapters to go before the unpublished chapters are published for the first time since 2004;  
ONE more chapter to go before the NC-17 parts of the story,  
and six months to go before the revival airs!

Oh wait, that wasn't supposed to be included, but anyway, there you go!


	31. Chapter Twenty Eight: WB Studios

**A/N:** Go ahead, play Foreigner's _I Want to Know What Love is _in the background. You know you want to. ;)

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT:**

* * *

Studio 018  
Warner Brothers Studios  
Los Angeles  
February 19, 1986  
Wednesday

His dark blue sweater curled into his abdominal muscles as he bent over to tie his wood-colored boots tighter, even if the knots were already perfectly done. He redid the ribbons, his current fixation only reminding him of that time not-so-long-ago in the dressing room of a bar, when a twenty-year-old redhead redid her shoe laces again and again while he drunkenly persuaded her to be the lead actress for a certain movie …  
Mulder bent his back further down to reach his right foot when his name was suddenly called, the syllables echoing in his brain.

"Shit," was his immediate response.

The people around the table he was seated in coaxed him to hold his head up high, stand up, and walk towards the middle of the room, where a microphone was held up by Walter's nimble fingers, gently swaying to his direction. More calls for him to take the microphone. More wolf whistles versions of his name.  
Mulder sighed, burning his throat with red wine, and gathered himself towards the middle of the room. The others cheered goofily, some chanting his name with every step he was drawing, others demurely clapping their hands.

There was one person that differed, though.

She was seated three tables away from his own, stoic against the tidal waves of cheers that were sweeping their own comrades. Her blue eyes were wide, jittery, and her hands nervously smoothening the tablecloth's lace. Her expression was more or less the casual deer-caught-in-the-headlights kind that immediately alarmed him: she was afraid, just as he was.

Twelve months together. Mulder had known Scully for twelve months. Had it only been twelve months? Because it felt like he had known her his whole life, and lifetimes before this existing one. Crazy; but deep inside his heart, gut, soul, he knew it was the truth.

He tried his best to shake off the intense desire to look at her, to somehow gather strength from her blue depths. With his best stride, he blindly and emotionlessly took the microphone from Walter Skinner. The bald Producer grinned crookedly at him, before settling back to the same table Mulder came from.

The Director tapped on the microphone gently, emitting small claps of thunder from the speakers it was attached to. After he was assured that it wasn't giving up on him (he kind of hoped it would, for the record), he directed it close to his mouth, hearing his ragged breath emanating from everywhere inside the cramped studio.

"Good evening, guys," he started, forcing a smug grin from the hollow part of him. The semi-drunk/semi-conscious crowd replied a same greeting to him, a prompt to go on with his intended speech for the evening. Mulder allowed himself to breathe and then launched on.  
"For the rest of you tonight, this is the end of all the bullshit we've put up with for the past… I don't know… was that seven months? That fast? Anyway, this is where we all are going to say goodbye to our main characters," he regarded the table Scully was sitting in with an admiring wave, "for the rest of you guys out there who know that I still have you by the neck, we'll all be back next week to launch on post-production," Mulder turned towards Skinner, who was guffawing at his words, "don't laugh, Skinman. You're on the chopping board next week." His mentioned friend stuck up his middle finger high in the air, dropping it when Mulder laughed at this expected reaction.

"Thanks to everyone for this wonderful opportunity. I couldn't have done it without anyone who's here in this room tonight. I know you're all waiting for me to officially close this movie, and goddammitt, I must be the only one who's having mixed emotions about the end of filming … but hey, it's life. I had the best crew in the damn world, the best actors I've ever dreamed of working with, the best people around me, the best studio, and I'm still a fucking selfish son of a bitch who doesn't want this to end. I understand that I've worked you guys all so hard, but the REAL thank you is in the paychecks next month." Giggles were dispatched after his last statement and Mulder grabbed this opportunity to catch Scully's eyes. She blushed and stared down at her hands when she realized what he was going to do next.

"I also want to, umm, seize the stage for this, since I'm already up here and hey, what the fuck, right?" Mulder gathered courage from the undisclosed territories of his heart and moved himself so that he was facing Scully's table. The meager spotlights aimed their beams towards the main cast's table.  
"I want to tell the most wonderful lady in this whole damn room that I am going to hope for the best in her career, I'm sure it'll move up and about from here. And that I'm going to," he choked suddenly, the words so hard for him to get out. But he did, anyway, "I'm going to miss you. _Very_ much."

Claps erupted in the room, standing ovations, more confetti.

Mulder dropped the microphone back to its stand, using the remaining ounce of his bravado to control the tears that were threatening to overwhelm him. Scully locked her eyes with his for a second, and then dropped them once again to her hands. She was the only one who wasn't clapping or standing up. Her leg had been treated successfully later yesterday and the doctor had given her pills to ease the pain. Standing up wasn't a problem for her anymore.

Twelve months of knowing this woman. One fucking ride of a year. Half of that year was spent loving her with his whole being, loving her secretly with so much pain and passion that it oftentimes threatened to take his whole self away.

And now, this: _The end._

Mulder stopped looking at her, moving from the stage and into the crowd, until he was back on his own chair, where he finished a whole glass of crystalline red wine without even thinking twice. Soon, the party really started.

Dulling himself with another glass of wine, he watched stoically as the _Danced Yesterday _crew swayed on the make shift boogie floor, indulging their bodies to the mellow beats of Foreigner's _I Want to Know What Love is._

_I gotta take a little time, a little time to think things over  
I better read between the lines, in case I need it when I'm older_

Everyone was in their respective groups, chatting and laughing as the wine and finger food kept coming. This was their wrap party, their own salvation from being thrown into Mr. Fox Mulder's back-breaking production process. He smiled slyly at the thought, finding dark security in it.

The smile faded as he had a strange sensation come upon him, and with his mind a large overstated blank, he reached for his wallet … and dug for the golden cross he had kept there during the past few months. He held it close to his face, watching it glitter for the first time in God-only-knew-how-long.  
Dropping it to his lap, he searched for her face and found it isolated in one corner. She tucked her hair awkwardly at the back of her ears, talking to Harry Pendrell about something. Scully shook her head firmly at Pendrell, forcing a smile on her lips to assure the young man, and he walked away from her, his head hung between his shoulders. This sadness was erased, however, when one of the dancers came to him and led him to the dance floor.

Scully's jaw tightened when her gaze wavered to Mulder, and she once again broke off eye contact when she saw what he was holding in his hand.

He stood up from his seat, this time _blanking_ his mind as he tucked his wallet into his back pocket. Casually, he walked towards her, the cross necklace firm in his grip.

_In my life there's been heartache and pain  
__I don't know if I can face it again  
__Can't stop now, I've traveled so far, to change this lonely life_

When he was in front of her, she refused to acknowledge his presence. Her eyes scanned the smoothness of her black stockings, the violet swell barely visible under the material, swinging as she crossed them together, followed shortly by her arms.  
Mulder blinked at her reaction, or lack thereof, but continued to charge on. He sure was no quitter and Jesus Christ, he wasn't quitting now.

"I'm not going to ask you to dance this time," he hoarsely crackled, alarming her. She gazed up to his hazel eyes, searching for something he didn't know what, and her pearly whites bit into the plumpness of her red lips. Contemplating.

_I'm gonna take a little time, a little time to look around me  
__I've got nowhere left to hide, it looks like love had finally found me_

After the contemplation, she managed a heartfelt grin. "What if I ask you, Mulder?"

He returned her expression, holding out his free hand, and she took it, intertwining their fingers together, pulling him close to her warmth … pulling, what felt like, his soul to hers.

They stayed in the same spot, in the darkness, in the solitude, away from the others. They wanted this to be for both of them, to be together - maybe, for the last time.

Because of her still-healing leg, she was forced to wear dainty flats for the evening, but nevertheless, matching them with a clingy black dress that hugged her unmistakable dance's figure. The dim fabric also accentuated her porcelain skin, giving her a glow that Mulder knew was not intended. Scully was the last person who knew how beautiful she was. He loved that about her. And even if she was as radiant as a goddess that evening, she was obviously sad and tense.

Mulder nuzzled the curls of her red hair, hoping that time would stop and he'd never have to breathe without of her scent again. In turn, her hands brought themselves up to his back, playing with the rigid muscles on his shoulder blades and down his spine.

_In my life there's been heartache and pain  
__I don't know if I can face it again  
Can't stop now, I've traveled so far, to change this lonely life_

She rested half of her weight on his body, pushing their fronts impossibly closer. He accepted her weight though, swaying them both lightly to the beat. The grip on his back tightened, flushing whatever space that was between them to history.

Mulder struggled to find his voice as the tears began to give away, racing down to his chin. To hide his pain from the others - from her, maybe - he brushed it against her hair, the only part of her he could easily reach because she was so small.

"Scully,"

"Yeah?" Her voice sounded rough, sandpapery. Teary.

"I'll miss you. I'll miss you everyday. I don't want this to end and I don't care if that makes me sound like a bad person, but that's the truth. Look, I want you to visit me every day when you get your apartment tomorrow, I want you to come to me, and then we'll have fun like, we'll… we'll… laugh and we'll talk like those afternoons, right?" He was fluctuating. Oh, God. He shouldn't even be talking when the frog's leaping up and down in his throat.

_I want to know what love is, I want you to show me  
__I want to feel what love is, I know you can show me  
__I want to know what love is, I want you to show me_

"Yes." She barely whispered it. He wondered if he imagined her answering and if he was also imagining the wetness on his shoulder, where her face was resting on.

"And … and don't you also dare forget that you were once mine. Oh fuck, what am I saying? There's still the premiere, we'll still be able to see each other. You're my best friend, Scully. Don't forget that. Because of you I've become a great man within the short time we've known each other. I wouldn't be here without you. That's personally speaking now."

He broke their embrace, making her shudder. He lifted the gold cross that he had been holding all that time and he latched it around her neck, balancing himself on both sanity and emotions, balancing himself so that the heart on his sleeve wouldn't start bleeding.  
Closing off the hard lock, he cupped her face in his palms, brushing away the now visible tears on her flushed cheeks.

"Christ, Mulder," she stuttered, sniffing, "we'll still be going home together tonight."

_Let's talk about love - I want to know what love is  
__The love that you feel inside - I want you to show me  
And I'm feeling so much love - I want to feel what love is_

"Yeah," he agreed, hating himself for lying. Hating himself for this; hating himself all over again for being reminded that he did love her. So damn much.

_No, you just can't hide - I know you can show me  
__I want to know what love is, I know you can show me  
__I wanna feel it too - I want to feel what love is  
__Show me love is real, yeah - I want to know what love is..._

His lips met her forehead, and it lingered there, until the music ended and they had to eventually let go of each other.

This time around, they sat together on the same table, holding hands. They left earlier than the rest of the crew so that they could pack for Scully's departure tomorrow afternoon.

* * *

Fox Mulder brought Dana Scully into his world for a simple reason: he needed a dancer that could defy the grace of every living dancer on every pop culture film; he needed the _big _director's break. Armed with his undeniable charm for not quitting at whatever that was daring to stop him, he pedaled her agreement and had given her everything to earn her trust. It was supposed to be a purely professional relationship: one that had no strings attached.  
But ever since the time they spent in Las Vegas - when he had that a minor concussion and Scully stayed by his side day and night to take care of him, to _keep_ the doctor's orders, the moment he saw Scully crying in front of the mirror, the first time he laid on one bed beside her, he _knew_. Deep inside him, he knew that he had just stumbled upon what could be the most important relationship of his life; one that would even attempt to surpass the relationship with his own daughter.  
The Spunk had softened up to him, had opened her heart to him, had lowered her walls enough for him to enter. They became friends, best of friends, and continuously found each other throughout whatever life threw at them for the crazy past year. He could seriously claim that he had tamed the Amazon.

If that was so … then why the hell was he going to let her go?

Mulder watched passively as Scully hauled one of her marked boxes out of her bedroom, pushing it against the floor, taking a moment to pause and wipe away a drop of sweat that materialized despite the chill of the winter air. As she passed by him, he caught the markings on the box: _underwear_.

"Scully," he started, moving from behind the coffee table and blocking the path she was headed to stoically. "Why don't you do this tomorrow? The doctor advised bed rest to help your leg heal."

She impatiently pushed away a lock of hair that had escaped the confines of her pink cotton head band. Of all the days she had to wear pink - when she never really appreciated the way the color brought out the green hues of her eyes - she had to wear it today. "My leg is healing, Mulder. If it isn't, then I won't be able to stand up like this here. I'm fine." Giving him one last look, she diverted her course and pushed the box the other way around, until she reached the spot directly beside the sliding front doors, stacking her "underwear" together with three other marked boxes on the wall.

He couldn't believe this. She actually wanted to leave him.

"Scully," he uttered. The name had been on his lips so often the whole day that he had explored every ways and means that it's possible to say it. Mulder walked a few steps closer to where she was. "Rest, okay? You need it. We can do this together tomorrow."

She was arranging the top flaps of the "underwear" box, her back to him, enabling him to see the white flesh that peeked from her too short, light blue, Aerosmith T- shirt. "I … Maybe you need to rest, Mulder. Why don't you go up and I'll fix everything down here," she turned around to face him, "okay?"

No, it's not okay.

Mulder massaged his temples, clearing the damning thoughts far away. "I'm not tired."

Scully fingered the cross around her neck, pressing her thumb on the pendant. "YOU are. Go upstairs … if you want, I could -"

"No. I don't want." His voice sounded too much of a drag even for himself. More thoughts, more screams of phantom notions in his head. Tighter fingers on the sides of his head. "Scully, please, stop this. You need to rest. It's past midnight."

"Damn it, I don't," she argued, her voice becoming higher than she probably intended it to. "I want this finished right now … if I don't, then I might not -" A pause, a hitch, an unintentional confession.

His eyes widened at her, as if receiving telepathically what she could not say.

… _I might not be able to leave._

And the truth hit him. Hard.

No one wanted anyone to leave.

There they were, waltzing on forced emotions, trying their best to readmit the fact that they were too attached to each other to actually forego with the initial deal. They were failing in what they did best: argue to hide kept feelings from one another; argue to tire each other out.  
Honestly, Mulder was tired of this charade - of trying to push each other away when all the while it's bringing them closer together. They were weaved into this intricate plot and no one could push or pull. They were both trapped and a higher power had willed this. Someone had got to. There was no other logical explanation for how two people thrown into the most bizarre of situations found each other amidst everything else, how two people found oasis in each other.

An unconscious tear slipped beneath Scully's eyelashes and he saw how she swiped at it, how she hid her fear from him.

This couldn't happen anymore. He loved her. She WAS his oasis, his salvation - a reason to keep on struggling every day. He lost the only thing that mattered to him the past year and she was with him, not only as his colleague - but as his best friend.

Scully was his deity. He might not want to give her a relationship, but at least, he could have her. It might be platonic, but at least, she's with him. He'd accept anything, just to keep her with him.

Mulder didn't realize that his cheeks were already wet with tears when Scully made a by-pass for the coat rack, grabbing her baseball cap and leather jacket, quickly putting them on and sprinting out the house faster than he could say "Spunk!"

With his heart effectively now on his sleeve, bleeding like hell - his legs followed her involuntarily, jumping over the couch and missing priceless vases as he stalked, finding her by the curb, gazing out into the dark streets of Beverly Hills, anxiously waiting for a cab.

"Scully!" he called out desperately. With all the emotions inside him, he's wondering how the hell his brain could keep all his networks working properly. "Scully!"

She ignored his calls, shrugging her jacket tighter and shifting her weight to her right, more stable, leg.

"Scully…" He finally reached her side and he forcefully took her in his arms, fighting off the tremors that invaded her body, fighting the shock waves of cold against his torso, fighting everything else except her.

Wrapping his biceps around her thin frame, Mulder dipped his lips down to her ear and whispered the only thing he could process:

"Stay."

She sobbed desperately, moving her arms beneath his strong grip, but failing. When she realized that his strength would outdo hers, she spoke, "I can't … we have a deal to follow, Mulder, we …"

"Bullshit," he countered, wiping his tear tracks on her hair, catching some strands on his cheeks as he pulled away to talk. "Who cares about the deal? This is **US** now, Scully. I need you - and don't talk more bullshit by telling me you don't need me."

She was crying now; he could feel the wetness on his chest. "Mulder, please, don't make this any harder than …"

"Goddammitt, Scully! Please just stay! I'm not asking for anything more - I just want you to stay!" Sheer rapture of anger tore through his vocal cords, and when anger overtook his side, she was able to pull away from him. This made her baseball cap drop to the ground - taking with it her pink headband, and what he saw in her eyes frightened him.

Something pure, passionate, frantic … crazy.

Oh, God. This was not happening, was it?

Scully blinked, the blue in her eyes changing into a darker navy shade.

So there they were, standing before each other - pricking with needles and bleeding before the heavens. This was already too deep for him, and the barrel just was going on and on, farther than he could ever reach. Their relationship couldn't get any more complicated at that point. That's the reason why he couldn't pull her in that damn barrel. He couldn't let her jump the jump that he had already taken - because he was still falling. Every single day.

Mulder took a step forward, but Scully raised her palm up, halting him.

"Give me a reason why I should stay."

Oh. Fuck.

Mulder's hands - together with his body - turned clammy all of the sudden as he forced himself to say in one quick swipe what he wanted to tell her all those months. Those words that he kept telling the Scully in his dreams and the words he swore he'd never tell her when he's awake.

But his mind was a ravaging river, amidst the cascading emotions of his heart - the rational part of him always whispering, "_Too deep. I can't pull her in."_

And the fear he thought had escaped him came cowering back, creeping up into his spinal column, and settling down on his neurosis.

_Oh, shit. Help me._

Those were the last words in Mulder's mind when Scully closed the gap in between them, tip-toed on her dirty white rubber shoes, tilted her head to one side, and kissed him.

It was a soft press at first, quite similar to the first time their lips met back in Las Vegas, but Scully demanded more of his cooperation, and with a hand to the base of his neck, she pushed further into his mouth. When he felt her tongue darting out to taste the lines of his lips, he instinctively opened his own lips, letting her enter him - enter his body, enter his soul. The season's frostiness was replaced with a heat he hadn't felt in a long time.  
His mind still had difficulty in processing everything that was happening in one gentle swipe, since his heart was pounding on his rib cage - too loud for his brain to concentrate on what was going on; however, his nerves were on fire. A gentle thrusting from her tongue made him groan, and his hands cupped the perfect curves of her shoulders, down to her waist, to her ass.  
So this was how she tasted … sweet, fiery sweet, like in his dreams, but much, much more of flavors he'd never be able to define in only one kiss. Her tongue was restless, always finding new places to discover within his mouth, and he let her explore, settling back and occasionally caressing in turn when her exploring stopped. When she withdrew her tongue from his mouth and her teeth sunk into his lower lip, a primitive arousal took over him, creating the fastest erection in record time.  
He noted back then that this woman would never, ever stop surprising him … and he was once again proven that when she removed her hands from his hair, lips from his own, and weakly took three to four steps backwards. Her knees were buckling as she straightened before him, hiding her hands into her front jeans' pockets.

What just happened there?

Those blue eyes of hers were now of want, of passionate want, of loving want. A strange prickling of panic overtook Mulder's already distressed and confused heart, and he had to press a palm up to his chest to stop the feelings from completely overtaking him.

"That's … that's my reason, Mulder. Tell me yours," she said, biting the insides of her swollen lower lip.

He could easily tell her the reason why she should stay. As simple as ABC: _Scully, I love you_. It could be that easy, nothing's got to be as complicated as it seemed.

But then, flashes of Samantha, Diana, Emily, his Mother and Father, tore through his vision of this beautiful redheaded woman, creating a dizzying kaleidoscope of images that almost had him reeling in despising pain.

Too deep, too dark, too much of every shit in his life to pull Scully in. He wasn't supposed to want this. SHE wasn't supposed to want this.

"No, Scully," he breathed out, staring at her worried face, "I can't."

Before he could see her reaction, he made the coward's way out: he did a u-turn, ran into his Manor, pounded up the stairs, entered his bedroom, closed the door behind him, and sat down on the bed. His whole body felt like jell-o. He couldn't feel his arms or legs.  
That shouldn't have happened! Scully shouldn't have done that and he shouldn't have responded! There was _no way _they could be together. There was no way that this could have happened. Maybe if he concentrated hard enough, like Dorothy and her exit of Oz, he could will himself to wake up. This was just a nightmare. Like those that Scully had, like those that he had - a nightmare. A nightmare born out of his emotions, out of his deepest wants and fears …

"Mulder?" A soft voice jolted him, his heart leaping unexpectedly up into his throat. He didn't even hear the door open.

Damn no! What the fuck was she still doing here? She should leave!

He bent down until his arms tightened around his stomach, a frail attempt to stop all the flip-flopping within them.

"Go away, Scully," he barely was able to say, his face in between his two knees. Anything to stop them all. Anything to silence them all.

"I won't, I can't." Footsteps padded on his carpet, coming closer to his form. "I just kissed you. I can't."

"Yes, YOU CAN!" Mulder bellowed, surprised that his voice was still there, cowering along with him. "Leave before anything else irrational happens, please!"

"Was that irrational?" Before he knew it, Scully was already beside him, kneeling down on the carpet, stroking his sweat-stained hair, holding his hand and pulling them away from his stomach. At the corner of his eye, he could see that she was trying her best to smile despite her tears. "You first asked me to stay, and now you're telling me to leave. _That's_ irrational, Mulder."

"Don't do this, please."

"I've wanted to do that forever, Mulder. Don't you understand?" A finger found his chin, lifting them up so that he could see her tear-streaked faced, the watery blues of her eyes changing into an even more transparent color, the plumpness of her lips. "I _need_ you because I _love_ you. I'm _in_ love with you. And don't talk anymore bullshit by telling me you don't love me too."

He was able to gurgle out a sob from that, fighting the force of her finger and bringing his head back down to his knees, crouching like a broken man.  
She loved him. She just told him that, right? Straight out of her reddened lips, out of her lungs, out of her insides, out from her soul: Scully ACTUALLY loved him.  
And for all the reasons in the world, she knew that he loved her. Who was he kidding anyway? This was a woman who could read his whole past, present, and future by just looking into his eyes. He should've laughed at this a long time ago. Some psychology graduate he was.

_Please, stop this. Enough torture, please._

"Isn't that the reason why you gave me back this?"

He twisted his head to her direction, seeing her lift up her golden cross and holding it up to the twilight. "You were pushing me away because you felt something different for me. I just don't understand why you gave this back to me without telling me how you feel."

Argue, dammitt. That's the only thing he could do right now. Forget everything and argue.

"You said," he throatily replied. "Once … before, after I kissed you in Vegas … that you never did see me this way. That our relationship could never be intimate. I agreed. Maybe I still do."

"I lied … not because I wanted to, but because I was afraid as you are now," she mended, her fingers in his hair stifling,. "I reacted that way before because I, I never thought that it was possible. That I could love you. I was drunk, confused, and the man I loved just kissed me." She swallowed, removing her fingers and placing it on the empty spot beside his body on the bed. "I'm sick and tired of that fear, Mulder," she whispered softly, as if she was telling herself so, and not him. Then she regained her voice's convicting intensity."You still agree with that notion? That you cannot see us this way? Why not? And don't tell me about how young I am."

He cringed, but continued, "Scully, this is … just too much for me. I've never felt this way before, honestly, and I don't want to pull …"

"Pull what in?"

"Pull you in. I don't want to destroy this. Our friendship is immeasurable and I'm afraid that if we jump into this, we'd … lose that. I trust you with my life. I can't lose you."

"Mulder," Scully whispered, and he swore that the moment he heard her say his name, his soul involuntarily cracked. She rested her head on his arm, wiping wayward teardrops on his bleeding heart. "You can't lose me. I'm yours, remember? I've been yours for a long time now. And I want this more than anything else. I want to stay. With you."

He shook his head vehemently, dislodging their positions.

Scully captured his hand and effectively pinned it to her stomach. "Tell me, Mulder, do you love me?" It was the sadness in her voice that made his soul break and his heart started dripping fresh blood on the floor in front of her all over again.

He could lie. It could be as easy as ABC: _Scully, I don't love you_.

But he couldn't. This woman before him had reshaped his life in the most incredible way and he did love her with all his being and all his soul. He wouldn't lie. He couldn't lie to her. Of all the people in this world … no, not to Dana Scully.

"Yes," he finally admitted, feeling all the voices in his head and heart screech to a halt, and the world didn't cave in on him … his heart stopped bleeding and his spirit mended with a sturdy band-aid. Everything actually felt better.

Scully sighed; he couldn't tell if it was in obvious relief or in happiness. But it didn't matter.

Mulder moved forward from the bed and placed a hand on Scully's neck, pulling her close to his face until they were eye-to-eye. That was the exact moment the world paused and begged him to throw all the Spunk rules out of the window.

So, he did.

Their lips met and he devoured her - spirit, heart, and all.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT**


	32. Chapter Twenty Nine: Mulder Manor

This chapter contains sexually explicit material. Like, a lot of it.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY NINE:**

* * *

Mulder Manor  
Beverly Hills, Los Angeles  
February 20, 1986  
Thursday

"_Quos amor verus tenuit, tenebit."  
__\- Seneca_

He was drunk. Not with wine from the wrap party, but more than that – there was a taste on his tongue that was better than wine, better than anything else he had ever tasted in his life. And his heart wouldn't quit its intense pounding against his chest when he woke up. His head was spinning, flying, and it wouldn't settle back down on earth. He felt like he drank a whole carton of wine; he was paying for the feat physically, but his soul was singing. His soul was alive.

If it was any indication, when he opened his eyes in the morning and found himself bare naked beside the most beautiful woman in the damn world, he hoped that what happened last night felt more _real_ to him. He wanted to see it the way he saw movies in his head. He wanted to remember it for the rest of his life, to reach into the movie in his head and convince himself that what happened last night was, indeed, real.

Mulder slowly propped himself up on the white sheets of his bed with an elbow, not taking his eyes away from Scully's face. He had woken up with this lady in the same bed more times than he had dared to count, but this was certainly the first time that he had found her as naked as the day she was born: her back to the mattress, one hand atop her bare stomach, breasts with light red scratches (from him, of course), her breath on his nose. The green quilt covered them both waist down and he was glad for that assistance. It was taking all of his will power at that moment to not further encourage his morning erection; his penis was already doing salsa at the sight of Scully.  
Yes, they had done it. Maybe there was no turning back now. Sure, he tried to the very end to convince her that they didn't need to make love just yet. They could revel in their honest confessions for the night and let the days, weeks, months take them where they needed to go. But he was silenced when Scully's tongue jammed into his throat. From there on, it was a free fall.  
He dropped back onto the pillows, forcing his mind to remember everything. He had a fantastic memory – in Harvard, they even said that he was borderline eidetic. However, his memory was failing him now when he wanted it the most. He could see glimpses of last night - a kiss here, a thrust there, the smell of their sex in his room, her orgasm – but he couldn't recount it all. He wanted to see it in his head, like a reel from his favorite movie.

Oh God, what was he thinking about, anyway? He's in bed with Dana Katherine Scully - the woman he loved more than anyone else in this world; he loved her with such passion and intensity that it couldn't match anything he had ever felt in his life … yet, it still didn't feel real at all.

Was that a good or bad thing?

Scully stirred gently, removing her white arm from her stomach and draping it instinctively on his chest. He shied away from the feel of her bare palm on his also bare chest, and this simple action of his woke Scully up.  
Her eyes opened slowly, blinking away the pinpricks of light that were slicing through the half-closed draperies. Her gaze immediately fell on his equally disheveled form.

"Morning," she said, smiling lazily at him. Mulder returned her gesture, loving the way her eyelids fluttered when he leaned in and kissed her on the forehead.

"Morning, too," was the only thing he could say back, apart from leaning his head on a buttressed hand and watching Scully adjust to reach his position, watching her pull up the blankets to cover her chest from the cold, and watching her grin that lilies and carnations grin with such intensity that he swore that she was glowing and he swore he could die a happy man at that moment.

Everything was too good to deny right now. Everything was too perfect to put away. This was everything he had ever wanted.

How did _everything_ end up to this?

"Mulder," she whispered, drawing him back to what was happening in front of him. Reaching out a hand to cup his cheek, Scully screwed one eyebrow up. "What are you thinking about?"

That what happened last night wasn't clear enough for his liking and that here he was, in bed with the woman he loved, yet there were so many barriers bringing them apart.

He brought one hand to the only piece of accessory that he left on her skin last night: her cross necklace. He fingered it gently, moving an inch closer to her body. "I love you," he stated, not proclaimed. "I don't understand how I got here - how we got here - but I do love you. I never expected that you'll give me this and I'm still not asking you to do that."

Scully's collarbone was extensively visible as she sucked in the jolty morning air around them. "You want to take this back? This was a mistake for you?"

Mulder dropped the cross back on her white skin, transferring his hand to her shoulder. The heat of her body was tempting and it was taking all of his forty years of dealing with women to not simply give in and start making love all over again. No, Dana Scully was too precious to him for that.

"I'm not sure of what I want … but here's what I'm sure of: I want whatever you'll want. I'm fine with that. I could live with that."

"But," Scully started, her voice breaking, "I want you to want this as much as I want it. Don't you understand, Mulder? I wanted this to happen; I want US to happen."

"Scully," he began to protest, but was cut off when Scully lifted the cross back up with her own fingers and suddenly, he was silenced by the déjà vu of her action.

"Why did you give me back this?"

Okay, easy enough to answer.

"Because you were leaving, I guess … I never wanted you to leave without that, your necklace is a part of you, a big part of you… and I never thought…"

By the look on her face - the wide eyes, suddenly flushed cheeks, clenched teeth – he clearly was giving the wrong answer. But the wrong answer's the truth, actually: there was no particular reason why he gave her necklace back to her. It seemed like the most logical thing to do back then when he wanted to dance with her.

"I'm sorry, I'm not exactly good at this." Mulder caressed her cheek, hoping to ease away some of the tension there. "Tell me what you want to hear."

"I want to hear the truth from you."

"Fine," he agreed. That shouldn't be too hard. "Truth is my whole body, heart, and soul's telling me that this is right - that this is possible, that a woman like you could want me as much as I want you. But the rational part of me is telling me that this isn't at all logical. How could anyone as beautiful, as young, as perfect as you could, could …"

"Mulder, stop that. I'm not a fragile thing! Yes, I am young, but this is only because you gave me back my youth." She probably noticed the bewildered expression on his face, so she explained further. "There was a point in my life wherein I felt as if I had become older than my age. I was only in my teens, yet I felt as if I was already sixty … and here you are, in your forties and you act as if you were just twenty today! You have so much youth and life in you that I was taken in." There was a smile on her face - shy and begging for him to understand. "If you want to know, I fell in love with you a long time ago. It only took me Vegas and that kiss to confirm it."

"You don't mean that."

"I certainly do."

"That isn't possible. I mean," he raised a hand and tried with his best to illustrate his point, "how could a twenty-year-old in love with me? I'm fucking forty and I have a daughter and I'm not exactly a mature man at that -"

"It's possible. It already happened. For me, it just happened. Did I want it to? No, I didn't at first … but now, I do." Scully moved her body an inch closer to his, her breath almost fluttering on his face. "I think you do love me, Mulder … but the problem is that you haven't accepted it yet."

"How can you say that?" Mulder sat up, darting away from her gaze and resting his back on the headboard. "I love you, I told you that. The reason why I never wanted this is because it's too deep for you. Too deep for us."

"Any deeper than how I feel for you?"

Never trust himself to be able to outlast an argument with Scully. How the hell could he dispute that?

"Maybe just as deep. I don't know." It was his turn to imitate Scully's ailing first grader pose. He cradled his legs in his biceps and hugged them tight to his chest. "I don't want this to be anymore complicated than it already is."

"I think this is all because of you haven't fallen into this yet … you see?" She also sat up, but did not acclimate herself beside him. However, she did place a hand on his arm, which made a part of him feel better. "I've had. I've admitted that I love you a long time ago and I was just waiting for the right moment to tell you. I was also afraid of rejection - more than afraid, I guess - but I was more excited by the fact that I could free myself from the constraints and just be me. You changed me in more ways than I could imagine. I want to share your, this, gift with you. Last night just pushed me to my limits."

"I've fallen, Scully," he alleged, shrugging off her hand. "I've admitted this a long time ago, too. But there are just so many things …"

"You're right too, you know." Scully agreed too fast for his mind to process. "If you look at it this way: I'm only your co-star here, an extra even. You are the director _and_ the star. This is your production, your script, your concept, your life … and I was just lucky enough to be here, at the right place and the right time, for the ride." Her head bent down, eyes falling to his toes that were curled up underneath the sheets by the intensity of her words. "This wouldn't really affect me. You have more at stake here: your reputation, your daughter, your friends …"

"I'm only trying to protect you. Soon, you'll be a movie star."

"That wasn't what I wanted from the start. I just wanted to dance." A tear sprang free from her lids. He wondered how many times they have cried in the last twenty-four hours. He wondered if they could still afford the feat. "Maybe I just wanted something more." A hitch in her breath made his heart flip-flop. "Maybe I'm wanting too much from you."

Scully rose up from the bed and began to walk to the door when Mulder realized that it was wrong - her analogy was wrong: It may be his script, his movie, his concept … but she was the story.

This was his movie and the story was all about her.

"No, Scully," he captured her wrist and tightened his grip around it. "Don't. You're not wanting too much. _Stay._ I want this, too. Last night wasn't a mistake. Last night will never be."

From her achingly beautiful bare back, Scully twisted her head to view him from the corner of her eye. Her unruly hair followed this direction, dropping to her opposite shoulder and splaying on her porcelain white skin. "What do you want to happen now?"

"I want to go forward."

There were no more hesitations, no more fears, and no more doubts. This was his heart in love at its purest form. He's taking that plunge right now. He's going to jump in with her and maybe stay with her in the bottom until they both drowned in this. He wanted to drown, with her. He wanted to drown in all of her.

The corner of Scully's lips crawled into an unsure smile, another tear sliding down her cheek.

"I want to go forward with you." He strengthened his conviction, voice becoming more confident. "I've always wanted to, it's just that there would be too many people in this."

Scully gave out a half-nod, worrying her tongue over her lips. "I know."

"And then there's the public … I don't want you to get hurt," he repeated, for the nth time that day. Fuck, he's going for the Guinness Book of World Records for the longest and most redundant morning-after talk.

"They don't have to know about this," she mended, finally bringing her body in with her head to face him, naked and all. He swallowed hard at the sight of her full torso, drifting his eyes to the spot behind her head to stop himself from literally jumping at her. She continued, "If that makes you feel better. We can have this for our own and then they could know later on. But this is about us and it should be about us, not them. I don't care how selfish that sounds."

She's right. She always was. And her selfishness was further convincing him of this decision. He did want to go forward. They would.

Mulder held a hand out to her, the sun's rays pelting on his tanned skin. "Okay. We'll go forward. They don't have to know … this will be our secret."

Scully finally completed her nod and placed her hand atop his, the paleness a perfect paradox against his skin. "Good enough," she replied, lifting herself to sit on the back of heels, baring the delicious curves of her body - from the protrusion of her hip bone to the alluring dip of auburn curls in between her shapely thighs.

That was his immediate breaking point.

Mulder drew forward on all fours, like a hungry serpent upon its prey, and descended his mouth with hers, drawing in her lips to taste her, all of her. The kiss at first was soft, morning-like, unsure, but as Softness and Unclear passed, suddenly, it turned turbulent, passionate. Mulder's knees buckled under him at the feel of Scully's tongue gently thrusting in his mouth, and he had to hold onto her shoulder to keep his body in his position.

Then, they needed to breathe, so Scully broke free from their kiss, only to resume this on his neck, sucking gently on his tender flesh that awakened his other member below. He straightened up, mimicking her seating position. His hand found the back of her head, pressing her closer to his skin.

"Tell me you want this," he murmured, voice ten octaves lower and unrecognizable to his own ears.

She didn't answer at first, her mouth busy with pleasuring him. Those talented lips began to dance down, down on his chest, until it reached a nipple and she began to swirl her tongue on it. He had to bite the insides of his cheek to keep from moaning.

"I do want this. I've told … showed you how much last night." There was annoyance in her voice, and it was clear now that angry Scully and aroused Scully were two personalities he'd have to be careful with. Mixing them together would be like mixing Nitroglycerine and Oxygen. _Chemistry._

As usual, though, all these thoughts were only thoughts and really, Fox Mulder couldn't just quit.

"I want last night to be as clear as day, Scully …" he trailed off, each syllable punctuated by a long-overdue moan. Scully's hands replaced whatever her lips left, and now she was dangerously close to his penis. When her tongue dipped down to his bellybutton, his stomach muscles tensed from the intense pleasure.  
Thank God she was still listening, since she lifted her head just a few centimeters short from his groin. Her suddenly navy blue eyes were asking for the reason why. Her white hands returned to his shoulders and tightened their grip there.

"I'm sorry, does that make me a bad person?" he asked, as if it could make any difference. "I remember bits and pieces of last night, but I want to brand it in my memory, to remember it so clearly that I would be able to play it out like a movie in my head. I want to remember making love to you for the first time, Scully, until I die. Oh fuck, I must be getting old," he further justified, his fingers settling on her hip bone. Scully blinked, and in that instance, the lust in her eyes was replaced with tears that didn't fall.

"Scully, don't -" he tried to conjure, seeing her present condition, but he was cut off by her finger on his lips.

"You were, were crying last night, Mulder. You were… crying slowly, silently. I think that's the reason why it's not clear to you. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Scully said, her voice shaking. Then, she smiled. "Of course, you withdrew before coming, if you're interested to know."

Mulder had to grin, her finger pressing onto his teeth. Of course, he would remember that despite his tears.

"I don't know how that makes me feel," Scully continued, the hand on his lip drifting down to his chest. "But I do know that it doesn't make you a bad person, or an older one. Your spirit will always be young for me."

That was how Scully viewed him: the young man. And he believed that as long as he was with her, he'd be that young man. She'd make him feel young.

"I'm too darn lucky … being with you," Mulder said, startling the Spunk by continuing her ministrations. He suckled on the flesh directly above her breast and found that when he did this, her skin rendered amazing gooseflesh. He liked the way her fingers tightened against his shoulders, fingernails pressing on him, and he also liked that he didn't care if she wounded him. Hell, he'd love it if she left some sort of mark on him.  
That was the point when his mind sputtered a bit in response to his recollection. Mulder placed a quick kiss on her shoulder before lifting his head up to meet her eyes.

"Your leg? Did I hurt you last night?"

Scully gradually smiled. "No, you didn't. You were so careful and tender with me."

Just to make himself feel at ease, he drifted his gaze down to that antagonistic limb. The purplish region that had been strained by her triple jumping jacks was now faint, scattered red and blues. Mulder trailed a finger over the bruise to see if she would flinch. Scully didn't even make a single sound.

"Are you sure? Is it supposed to heal this fast?"

"I have pills. They helped. It's better. You can never hurt me, Mulder."

Still, in their frenzy last night, one could never be that certain.

"Mulder," Scully pinched the base of his neck to bring his attention to her face. "You didn't hurt me. And you never would. I'm fine." To plot her point, she stretched her neck up to kiss him - slow and achingly tender that had him gasping for more. The kiss convinced him faster than anything else could. Mulder grinned slyly and returned his moist lips back on her chest.  
"I'll… I'll help you… remember… vividly," Scully was able to get out of her mouth in between gasps and he knew that speech was becoming less and less amiable, especially when her tight nipple was drawn into his mouth, and he began to cascade his tongue all over her smooth skin, memorizing her taste, memorizing her reactions.

"Mm- hmm," he replied, too intent on what he wanted to do with her body. A hand shot up and rubbed against her other breast and Scully's body began to go limp. Another limb circled her waist, holding her body to his mouth.

He'd make her react that way forever. He should create a new Spunk file: how to pleasure her 101.

Oh, whatever. Only Fox Mulder could think of these things during foreplay.

"And what did I do to you last night?" Mulder asked, releasing her nipple from his teeth but not from his mouth, the rosy-pink mound of skin still settling lightly on his lower lip. The hot air of his breath met with the wetness of her bosom, making Scully inhale deeply.

"You did … like that …"

"What did I do after I did this?" He was now teasing her, though he seriously thought that she wouldn't notice by the way her back arched and the way his voice sounded.

"You … you … umm, you … lower …" She was shy about this, and that made a part of him reek with male pride and another part of him swell. Enormously so.

"On your back," he ordered. Scully's eyebrows raised in tune with the gruffness of his voice, but did as he said, anyway.

Her auburn hair were like wildfire against the pale white pillows, the mellowed down rays of the sun bouncing off her skin and almost blending her body to the paleness of the sheets. Her legs parted of their own accord; stomach tightening in anticipation as Mulder dipped his head down, tracing the bumps and curves of her body with the tip of his nose.

He had to pause when he reached her pubic bone, the scent of her arousal overwhelming his senses. It was fire to his nerves, alerting every blood in his veins and something inside of him ticked – Jesus, he had to taste her, to feel her dripping on his tongue, and to have her come on his face.

"Mulder," Scully aired, hovering from extreme ecstasy and her last grip of sanity. "Y- you don't have … to do this … I've told you last night that you don … youdon't… have to again, I'm …"

Her last word was stricken with a large inhalation of air, and a moan that went straight to his cock. Mulder's mouth was now directly in front of her wet slit and he can't help breathing in her scent, breathing in that wonderful womanly scent that he now swore he'd never let a day pass without tasting.

Scully's thighs buckled in anticipation when she felt his soft stubble across her inner thighs. To keep her where he wanted her to be, he held down her legs with his hands, massaging the soft flesh gently to help her relax. When he was sure that her body was already slackened, he lowered his head down and began to taste.

She was like thick maple syrup with a tangy aftertaste of scotch - dire intoxication, overwhelming his senses. He wanted to lap at all the wetness she was generating, swirl his tongue in her until she was bone dry. She tasted too good; too darn good for him.  
Whenever his tongue brushed with the underside of her clitoris, she would make the most adorable hybrid syllables of his name and when he used his teeth and fingers together, she'd buck almost immediately. He'd have to wait a few seconds to let go of her already sensitized body to have her breathing back to normal. Then he'd plunge all over again.  
He had never tasted anyone this delicious before. All the previous women he had slept with painfully paled in comparison to Scully.

He sucked on her clit slowly at first, then forcefully, until she was rubbing herself on his face and he loved it, loved her scent, loved that he was surrounded by her until his face was dripping wet. When he increased the intensity of his lips on her engorged clit, it throbbed and he knew she was close. Hurriedly, he slid two fingers into her opening and pumped in and out, the slickness of her juices making the back of his spine tingle. Then, she lost it.  
Scully climaxed with his name on her lips, her stomach pushing upwards to the heavens and making her rib cage painfully visible. He lifted his head fast enough to catch Scully's closed eyes and mouth wide open in a silent scream of his name.

Fuck it all. He's going to make her come like this forever.

Mulder's cock twitched and he had to place a hand directly over his stomach to stop himself from embarrassing himself. Did she have to look this beautiful when she's climaxing? He had never, honestly, seen anyone look this perfect at the peak of their ecstasy.

Shit. Maybe he DID embarrass himself last night.

Coming back to earth, Scully raked her fingers into his hair and pulled him up to her, using his roots as a rope. His large, lean body covered her small one like a snug blanket, and when they were face-to-face, Scully captured his mouth in a spine-tingling, head-shattering, toe-curling kiss. She drank whatever he tasted from her, swimming her tongue in his cavities and he was too weak and too aroused to somehow respond to all this.

She released him finally, or else he would've REALLY embarrassed himself to hell. Scully sighed contentedly, spreading her legs wider to cradle his erection in between, the tip of his cock brushing delicately with the insides of her vagina. Their mouths both opened in silent shock at the sensations it rendered.

"Wh- What's next?" he was able to stutter, somehow glad that Grammar had not yet decided to pack his bag and return until the session was over.

"I want to change the course a bit," Scully tinged, and Mulder immediately loved the way her accent sounded with dripping want. "I want to taste you, this time."

If it was possible, Mulder Jr. grew another length at her words.

But as tempting as it was to have her lips, teeth, and tongue all over his body … this was all about her. He wanted last night and he wanted this morning to be inexplicably the same, he wanted to adore her - to worship every inch of her. More than that, he wanted to remember this in his head with him pleasuring her - his deity, his love.

"No, next time," he consoled, kissing the top of her head. "Next time, not now. Now is about last night. And I don't think I allowed you to pleasure me that way, am I right?"

Scully shook her head no, dumbstruck by all of this.

"Good. So today's all about you, okay? I want to love you like the way I loved you last night." Mulder traced the sides of her breasts, raising more gooseflesh in his touch's wake. "Tell me what's next."

"You … you entered me."

If his penis had hands, they'd be clapping now.

Mulder captured her lips in another lingering kiss and he thrust his hips forward, slowly, teasing the lips of her sex, before slowly burying himself to the hilt. His erection felt the warmth of her womanly heat and he had to pull back from the kiss and tilt his spine to rescue himself from drowning in her ecstasy. If he'd get too much of her at the same time, he'd never make it to the ninth inning.  
The sudden intensity of his pelvis on her own made Scully gasp, rendering Mulder in a moment of panic that he might be hurting her.

"Scully … Jesus, tell me … don't lie, please … am I hurting you?"

She shook her head no. During sex, Scully seemed to have misplaced her vocabulary.

"Please, tell me. Am I? Was it this painful … last night?"

Another shaking of her head. He's now officially confused.

"You had pain last night," he tried to argue, even if his hips were ordering him to pull inside and out and start that God-given natural rhythm. Sweat was staining his brow, the underside of his nose, and his neck. "A hell of pain, and I pulled back. I know I did. But you urged me on."

Scully's eyes flew open, her hands finding the crooks that connect his shoulder and neck together. "I haven't done this in a while and I have to admit that I'm a little sore …"

"Tell me that's the truth, please," he chugged out, breathing desperately to control himself. He wouldn't dare move until she told him that it's okay. Until he got the confirmation that she's not in any pain.

"That's the truth," Scully assured him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Mulder let out a small cry of relief. He then forged on, creating a rhythm of thrusting, circling, and pushing and pulling, withdrawing his cock from her and surging forward once again.

He's making love to her.

Making love to Dana Katherine Scully.

Imagine that.

Scully's legs wrapped around his waist, giving him deeper access to her body. He moaned aloud, throaty - primitive, and found her lips once again. When their tongues started to dance that dizzy tango, Scully began to also thrust towards him, matching his rhythm with her own; suddenly, everything was too perfect.

Too good.

Mulder sucked on Scully's collarbone.

Too fucking good.

She quivered underneath him, a warning that she's about to come again, and with this, Mulder stretched a hand down in between them, feeling for the alluring bundle of nerves that would make her lose herself beyond control. He made sure his head was upright when he touched her clitoris, wanting to see every single reaction of her body when she came.

A slight twist made her gasp, a dark flush coming over her cheeks.

A circle of his index finger made her close her eyes, as if in extreme pain, and then when his thumb met with his other digit to give her a squeeze - matching this with a particular powerful thrust, her vaginal muscles gripped his cock angrily and she came.

Her back arched, pushing her damp breasts against his chest, her eyes shutting close painfully as waves and waves of spasm darted from one body part to another. Sweat dripped from her forehead, her lips parting succulently, her sounds becoming louder and louder with each passing second that Mulder held onto her, watching her, loving the way she shrouded her cries with his own name.

"Oh God, Mulder! Mulder … oh fuck, Mulder …"

The massage of her orgasm on his cock was taking all of his willpower and he knew he wouldn't be able to last long. He was going to come, too.

He closed his eyes from her beautiful face reluctantly, knowing that if he wanted to keep the measures close, he had to pull out now. He thrusted into her twice before he completely left her sex, heaving his penis onto her stomach. At the exact moment his length scraped against her flat belly, it started spurting hot semen onto Scully's skin, over her navel, on her breast, on her rib cage, some landing on her inner thighs and some on his own. Mulder cried out as he came, chanting Scully's name over and over again until his muscles relaxed and he dropped heavily down on her.

For a few minutes, all he felt was Scully. Her hands on his back, massaging his tired muscles, her smooth legs slightly scratching his roughened ones, her tongue on the back of his ear, licking away rivulets of sweat.

Then it occurred to him that she was being crushed, since his weight was nothing to laugh at. He rolled over to one side, grabbing the sheets to wipe his fluids off their skins, before grabbing Scully to rest half of her body atop his chest. Her head pillowed on his shoulder, nose sniffing his scent, one hand coming over to wrap itself around his waist.

"I've never made love before," Scully whispered unsurely, her voice emanating from every corner of the room. Mulder's eyebrows screwed in its middle, his head moving to face a mound of red Scully hair.

"What do you mean?"

"I've had sex … but never have I made love before," she answered, stroking the underside of his belly, almost awakening his still recuperating organ. "This feels so good, so different … I think I've never felt this happy before, Mulder."

Happy: that had got to be the understatement of the century. He evaluated what she had said with his post-coital mind, thinking about how their age differences didn't seem to matter. Scully was in her twenties and she hasn't experienced making REAL love before. He's in his forties and he hadn't fallen in love this way before.  
Diana was never love. Whenever they had sex before Emily's conception, he was too high with heroine to understand what it meant. Phoebe was an infatuation. Cindy was childhood's play. Unmentionable lady was unmentionable. And Janice was a bite in the dust.

Scully's different. Scully was the one. Scully was everything.

"I'm happy too," Mulder agreed, pressing a kiss on the crown of her head. "For so many reasons … but one of them is because you're finally, really, mine. As much as I am yours."

Scully smoothened her palm on his hip bone, brushing her lips with the sides of his chest. "Yeah," she sighed, her eyelids fluttering before closing into oblivion. Mulder ran his fingers through the fiery strands of her hair gently and felt himself also slowly drifting to sleep.

This was them sleeping skin-to-skin, side-by-side, for the first time ever as _true _lovers. A forward. A new salvation. A new reason to praise life all over again. A new beginning.

It was the exact moment he felt that he had finally jumped into this. He's fallen hard for this lady and he's not going to _bloody_ deny it.

Spunk Rule #7 would be to love Dana Katherine Scully forever.

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**END OF CHAPTER TWENTY NINE**

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**A/N: **Thank you all for reading and reviewing. The reviews are amazing – I get excited whenever one of you out there tells me that you've read this story before and that you are rereading it again! But I also get excited when I read reviews from those who are reading this fic for the first time and are loving it all the same. So, thank you! So far, I'm writing the last few chapters of Spunk and I get my strength from all your R&amp;R!


	33. Chapter Thirty

**CHAPTER THIRTY:**

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February 21, 1986

Dear Melissa,

It was a dark August morning when you came to me in our living room, sat down near the edge of my seat, interrupted me while I was playing my guitar, and told me that what you are about to confide should be kept between us. I nodded reluctantly, knowing by the look in your eyes that the "secret" you are going to tell me would once more rock the boat of our family's challenging history.

If you remember quite correctly, that was the moment you told me that you were in love with Richard and that you are pregnant with his child.

That tore Bill up - in a good way. I remember fondly how he wanted the wedding preparations to be finished by October, before you start showing. It was chaotic: all the preparations, the way you glowed and giggled with Richard when you thought that Charles and I weren't looking … somehow, I was envious. I also wanted to fall in love.

But my heart was nothing more of a hollow mass - its sole purpose was to keep me existing. You know what I have gone through, Melissa. As much as I want to deny the reality of it like you did, I cannot. It happened to me. Not to you or to Bill or to Charles. It happened to ME.

I felt old; I felt unworthy of life and love. I told myself that there's no hope in the world that I'll ever fall irrevocably in love. I'll die an old maid and I'll stay this way as my own damn companion. I'll love myself and mend the pain and I'll do this all by myself.

I thought I could find this and more here in America. I thought I could dance my heart out and live my own life, be all fire so that I can push others away because I believed that didn't need anyone else.

I'm a big girl … I could admit that I was wrong.

Of all the places I could've met him, of all the moments I could've deserved this moment, - God, it was here, in America. Suddenly, it is as if my life had taken a complete one hundred eighty degree turn and here I am, in love.

God's finally taking something back.

Mulder is my youth, fire, and bravado. He's a savior - the salvation from the heap that I was. I have kept my feelings for him from you to stop you from misjudging this man. I know you'd think that he'll only use me; that he doesn't even love me and he's only doing this for our movie … but whenever I look into his hazel eyes, I see the truth in his words and I know that he does love me, Melissa. I see everything in his eyes.

Life's too good right now. The past few days had been like heaven: drifting in and out of clouds and dancing out in the rain, relishing in the feel of each other, laughing and kissing, being just our normal selves and happy to be silly with each other.

It's too damn good. I'm almost afraid that the Lord would suddenly decide to give me something again. He's like that with me, you know- He takes and He gives.

I'm afraid that this time around, He might finally get the math right and He might take the person I hold most precious to me. Then, He'll stop giving. Or taking. Like He did with you and Richard.

Give my love to Bill, Charles, your baby, and Nana.

_Mama dodi fi hwn donio. Ergyd fi ycusan trwy y Gogleddol Gwynt ac hi ewyllys derbyn ef._

Signed,  
Dana

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**END OF CHAPTER THIRTY**


	34. Chapter Thirty One: Mulder Manor

This chapter contains sexually explicit material.

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY ONE:**

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Mulder Manor  
Beverly Hills, Los Angeles  
February 23, 1986  
Sunday

He had to point out one thing he noticed in their very new relationship: it felt so comfortable, so homely… so inexplicably right. It was as if the gods were only waiting for the right moment that they'd be smart enough to step it up, as if they had been predestined to be lovers from the very beginning. When they finally had their heads and hearts screwed on right, the gods began to shower them with bounty to celebrate their conclusive _I told you so_.

Work was something his system craved for, but he's glad for the three-day break the studio had given all the cast and crew before postproduction began. It was all the time they needed to revel in their relationship - and may the gods help him, but he didn't want just three days … he wanted an eternity for this.

Scully giggled her girly laugh as Mulder tickled her ribs, her hands frantically waving over her head and almost toppling down the bottle of red wine onto his imported carpet - and for the first time ever, he realized that he didn't care. The fucking liquid could drown that $4,000 vintage carpet and he wouldn't care. Not when Scully's squirming and all red-faced underneath him like this.

"What did you call me again?" he demanded with a stern crescendo to somehow illustrate his straightforward sternness, but the humor in his hazel eyes betrayed him. Scully shook her head desperately against the carpet, her feet climbing up his stomach and flattening themselves on his flesh to push him off her body.

"Oh no you don't!" Mulder transferred his hands to her ankles, and shoved them forward, bending her knees, spreading her legs apart. He gingerly rested her lower limbs on her shoulders. Scully wasn't a dancer for nothing. She's very, very limber.

Now she was folded up under him, still giggling, and did he mention that she was very naked?

Oh, he didn't?

Well, he's mentioning it now.

The sight of her glistening sex so wide open and close to his-also-very-naked-and-very-aroused-groin made his brain short-circuit, and Mulder had to trail his eyes over to her face to control himself. A week ago, wine and Scully would've been out of the question. But right at that moment, two bottles of wine and a naked Scully was all he ever wanted, all he ever needed.

That was how intense the last three days had been for both of them; so intense that there was no real point anymore in putting on clothes. Either the garments would lay as scattered heaps across the dining table after meals, thrown all over the bathroom's vanity table during impromptu showers together, or all across his bedroom during the nights. On Sunday, he made a silly ordinance: no clothes on for the whole day. That statement made Scully snap and she laughed from morning to evening, until the very moment they found themselves as tangled limbs in the living room and drinking expensive wine as if it was tap water.

"What-did-you-call-me-Scully?" he shouted at the top of his lungs, her name punctuated with a semi-chuckle. She closed her eyes in fake agony, stretching her arm beside her to grab a flute of wine and slowly gentling the liquid down her esophagus, making sure that Mulder saw her humble seduction quite clearly.

Oh yeah, he sure did. And Mulder Jr. was living proof.

"_Yn dda donio Americanwr_," she finally answered, her blue eyes threading along mischievous waters. Mulder spotted a drop of red running at the corners of his lips and he bent down, licking the remaining traces of wine from her porcelain skin. He couldn't help it, as his tongue probed for entrance in her mouth, something that was now willingly given to him.

Remembering her words, he pulled away, removing a sticky strand of hair from her face. "What does THAT mean?"

Scully's lustful gaze turned into mirth. "Well-endowed American."

A groan escaped his wet lips. "That's _so_ cliché, Scully!"

"What do you want?" she aired, tracing a fingertip over his lips, leaving sticky trails of wine behind. "Hung like a horse? I can say that too in Welsh – _ceffyl _…"

"Enough!" he protested, grabbing her finger away from his lips and pressing his forehead to her own. If it was possible, her folded legs bent even more, creating a flatness that would've been very painful to other people, but not for Scully. Very limber, indeed.

"I'm not THAT big, Scully. You're exaggerating," he murmured against her lips, "and you refuse to be called beautiful!"

"But it's true!" his Spunk whined, and to show him, a hand dipped down and grasped his cock by the tip, painfully trailing her touch downwards until it reached the bottom of his shaft. Mulder's eyes shut immediately, hot breath spurting out of his lungs and transferring to Scully's flushed cheek.

She began to stroke him, up and down, never failing to skim her talented fingers so that each sensation could be felt well. "See? You're very big. _Mawr,_ that's what you are."

"Scu- lly …" Mulder bit the insides of his cheek to keep himself in check. He felt a large dollop of pre-cum gentling their way out of his penis. Scully sensed this, pressing her thumb firmly on the tip of his dick and collecting the moisture there.

Darn it, someday he'd award her with the best hand job ever.

"Scully," he insisted, oxygen suddenly thinning and head feeling as if it's skull was about to crack. "What are you doing?"

"Flip over," she demanded, voice deep and rough. Mulder shook his head in protest, getting a clear idea of what she wanted to do to him.

"No, don't -"

"I said FLIP over, Superman."

If she asked for a leash and a whip, he'd gladly put that on his credit card.

Mulder followed her command by plopping his suddenly heavy and boiling hot body down on the carpet opposite her. His back laid flat, his already rock hard erection so upright that it could hoist a flag up to the sky.

Scully skimmed her bare ass adjacent his body so that she was kneeling right in front of his organ, a hand settling on his stomach and another over his tightening balls. She licked her chops hungrily at the sight of Mulder Jr., and before he could contemplate even more, she descended her mouth onto his throbbing member.

The feel of her hot cavern around him almost did Mulder in, and he had to grip the rug hard to keep himself from reflexively thrusting into her throat. Scully waited patiently until he could settle down, her breath brushing heated air against his pubic hair. When he had a semblance of ease, she began to take him in once again, until the tip of his dick was straining halfway down her throat. And still, she hadn't completely enveloped his length in her mouth.

_Well- endowed_ American. Fine, thank you.

"Y- you … might … aaah, shit … choke…"

She moaned at this, the vibration of her vocal chords massaging his shaft. Her throat relaxed and she bobbed her head up and down rhythmically, judging from his reactions when she should take it slow or quick.

Mulder's grip on the rug tensed, while he kept his eyes firmly shut. If he opened them, he'd see Scully going down on him and he'd absolutely come in no time. If he released his grip on the rug, he would surely thrust into her throat.

He'll have to award her with the best blow job ever, too.

The hand that was innocently holding his balls now strained to cup him, and this was suddenly too much for his control. Without any warning, his hips surged forward, jolting her head up together with his thrust.

Damn fuck shit damn fucking shit.

He had to open his eyes this time, needing to see if she was okay.

A tsunami of relief enveloped his heart when he saw that Scully was smiling, still intent on finishing what she had started - her lips swollen from his previous kisses and from this new experience, her hair spreading like heavenly fire on her shoulders, perfect buttocks up in the air.

That was EXACTLY what he was afraid of.

Mulder bit his lip so hard he began to taste fresh blood. "Scuh- leee… you gott… a… stop… this… is…t- tooo … mu- much…"

Her answer was her tongue drifting across his cock.

"Oh, fu…." Then, he was gone. There was a painful moment when he shut his eyes so tight white starlight fluttered at the corners of the darkness and his body became so tense his bones felt like rocks, but after that was pure pleasure. His orgasm crept up from the tips of his toes and the ends of his hair to meet halfway in the middle of his groin, where Scully was still helping him ride out his climax. He heard himself shout her name out and a few curses in between, and she murmured her agreement through his cock.  
When he was done, he gradually felt his body plopping back to the carpet and made a weak move to let Scully know it was her turn …

_Ring. Ring._

Mulder lifted his head from the carpet, darting his eyes around the solemn living room as if trying to discern if the phone ringing was really from the den.

_Ring. Ring._

This time, Scully finally dislodged her mouth from his penis, and with wide blue eyes she caught his stare, an eyebrow raising as the phone began to ask for more attention.

"Shit," Mulder breathed out, knowing that he had to answer that damn thing. No one else had the guts to call him at 9 PM in the evening other than his best party animal friend, John, because the reasons someone called him beyond supposed sleeping hours was deemed important.

Scully sat up on her heels - her naked body suddenly feeling the rush of the faltering Winter's aftermath - her hands coming up to hug herself. "Answer that, Mulder," she said softly, as if it wasn't the most obvious option presented.

This was the first interruption they've ever had during sex. Actually, that was the first interruption they had since they've embarked on this relationship. The phone lines had been quiet the past three days, no one dared to visit the Manor (Jenny was given days off), and the house didn't ask for any cleaning. The new lovers enjoyed their time together freely; without any real disruptions. Until this.

It was like a dagger into their make-believe fairytale; a slash against a clear, untouched wrist. It was the first thread of reality into the world they created wherein no one else existed except them. And the expression on Scully's face told him that she wasn't quite prepared to snap out of it.

Mulder nodded - just to show that he acknowledged her statement – and sat up from his position. He went on all his fours to reach her lips, to give her a small kiss, before standing up and wading towards the den. _Wading,_ since his thighs still hadn't recovered from the extensive love making they had the past few days.

He heaved his bare ass on the den's study table. Picking up the phone, he tucked the receiver on one shoulder and grabbed a handful of sunflower seeds from the long-forgotten pile he scattered on the unused turtle-shaped ashtray a week ago.

"Hello?"

"Mulder, John here." As if his best friend needed anymore entourages for this phone call.

"This better be good, John," Mulder muttered, cracking a sunflower seed in between his teeth and immediately spitting it out when the staleness penetrated his taste buds.

"Sorry about this, but what I'm about to tell you isn't good," John sighed, as if Atlas decided to give up his day job and tossed the Earth to a certain Doggett. "Is Dana still there? I've heard some news that she hasn't moved out yet."

_Yet. _

Sons-of-bitches. When did they find out about this? He shouldn't have expected that asshole apartment owner to keep his mouth zipped shut.

"No," the Director amended, tossing the sunflower seeds into the trash can. "She hasn't moved out. She … she's not moving out."

"Oh," John replied, the way he usually did whenever Mulder would announce something he had done that had by-passed man's rationality. The next shift in his friend's tone wasn't at all surprising, even if it reeked of uncertainty and a warning. "What are you talking about, Mulder?"

Nothing really. He's just officially announcing that he and Scully were sleeping together - REALLY sleeping together - and they had been official lovers since Thursday.

The next words that came out his mind was incoherent, a sculpture authored by his ricocheting imagination: "It's her latest career move … we both decided that I should be like her manager - a sort of manager -"

"A sort of manager?"

"A sort-of-manager," he defended, "someone who'll guide her around Hollywood, never imposing anything, never making her decisions for her. A sort-of-manager." He suspiciously sounded like a seven-year-old defining a word for his mother.

"We'll have to talk about that," his friend said, another sigh shooting up his throat, "but there are other things that are most important right now. How fast can you make it to Lone Glitter?"

"Are you there already?"

"Yes, I'm outside, in a payphone. How fast?"

John's talking on pricks and needles. Mulder dropped the ashtray heavily on the desk, ignoring the slight chunks of glass that littered on the smooth, wooden planes. "Give me 30 minutes."

"Okay. Hurry up. Walter and I are already here."

He opened his mouth to say something else to end the conversation, but his friend finished the phone call, leaving Mulder staring at his receiver as if it had suddenly transformed into a monster. Then, he dropped the phone back to the cradle.

Returning to the living room, he found Scully looking as if she hadn't gotten over the initial shock of being electrocuted back to the physical realm, a wooly quilt covering most of her ailing-first-grader-pose. Only her toes peeked out of the blanket, rubbing at one another to generate some sort of heat.

Her head ticked to one side upon hearing his footsteps, her lips forcing a shaky smile upon his arrival. "What's that all about?" she asked.

Mulder ignored the screaming practicality that was jarring him to tell her quickly that he had to leave and he'd be back in an hour or so.

He slid down beside her, coming to wrap his strong arms around her shoulders, nuzzling the hair underneath her ear, wishing that she would somehow disentangle herself from her position and appear as strong as he wanted her to be.

"I'm leaving in a few minutes. There's something important that John wants to tell me." Mulder trailed his lips on her neck, before pulling reluctantly away. "They've asked about this - our - arrangement."

Her muscles clearly stiffened under his grasp. "What did you say?"

"That I'm your sort-of-manager. Do you want me to define that for you?"

"No," Scully answered, hugging herself closer, masquerading her tense insides. "That's good enough."

"Are you sure that's the explanation you want?"

"Good enough," she repeated. Mulder's lips parted to ask what kind of explanation she wanted, but was cut off when Scully began to speak again.

"Are you leaving now?"

He closed his lips tight, contemplating, and then answered yes.

Scully bent her head, resting it on his shoulder, and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips. "Come back as soon as you can."

The tinge of her unique yearning and anticipation dug at Mulder's heart.

"Okay," he promised, caressing her cheek and watching her eyes react to the warmth his touch offered her.

* * *

The wristwatch that Scully gave him for Christmas read a late 10 PM, prompting Mulder to run on his heels as he came across the small front door of Lone Glitter, blowing away frost from his breath and dropping his blue trench coat on the floor upon entering the club.

He was surprised to find the usually misbehaving club quiet and serene. The only light present throughout the whole rectangular room was a dim green bulb that illuminated the faces of his two colleagues by the bar, chatting casually with Frohike (who was all lit up with a flashy disco green jacket and matching cowboy hat).

Mulder removed his knitted cap and kicked it back together with his jacket, immediately jogging to his friends' direction.

"What's going on?" he toned as he approached them, clapping a hand over John's shoulder blade as a greeting.

Walter and John smiled weakly at him. His Producer removed the small welcoming from his face first, replacing it with a stern eyebrow stare.

"You're ten minutes late." Skinner tapped at his silver watch, shaking his bald head impatiently. Only the Skinman could take note of things like this; the man had a talent for Quality Control.

John, on the other hand, appeared as if he would rather sit through a whole episode of _Murder She Wrote_ than be there at that exact moment.

Mulder waved at Frohike as a warm greeting in return and sat on a stool opposite his Producer, grabbing one glass from the bar and sniffing at it. "Yeah, I'm rather late for your party. This is strong scotch - rocks. You guys don't drink scotch unless it's absolutely drastic. Is this yours, Skinman?" The aforementioned shook his head steadily. Mulder turned to the other culprit, his best party animal friend. "You? John? Wow." The one-shot glass found itself back on the counter, slowly being slid towards its supposed owner. "This had got to be something. I'm sure it is."

"It is something, Mulder." John completed a hundred-eighty-degree turn to face him. Skinner kept in his place, whispering to Frohike something about the bar's 'wonderful' facilities and how he'd love to come back next week to waste some of his life away.

John hushed their other two companion's conversation. At once, Skinner returned to the matter at hand, excusing them from Frohike. The DOM gave them a silly bow before he exited, singing Rod Stewart's "Do You Think I'm Sexy," slightly off-key.

"Take a seat, Mulder," Skinner gestured on the stool directly behind the Director. He did as he was asked, cautiously lifting one leg up to another chair just parallel him.

"Okay, shoot."

Skinner cleared his throat uneasily, "There's problem with our production." He glanced at John, as if wanting the Assistant Director to continue his starting statement, but their pouting friend just kept his mouth shut, leaving the preliminaries to the Producer. "We've discovered through our inside MGM source that Alex Kryceck had also just been given his directorial debut project … five months ago."

"And so?" Mulder scratched at the slight stubble of his chin.

"And so, we've discovered too that this project of his involves a script- lots of dancing, lots of romance … in short, _Danced Yesterday _part two."

His hand on his chin stilled, and Mulder alternated his gaze from one man to another. Both were reeling, expecting a big outbreak from the Director. A real BIG one.

Instead, Mulder clenched his teeth together, listening to the squeaky sound inside of his head, and poised another question: "How sure are you about this?"

His party animal took the initiative this time. "As sure as Lucy's ten months old. This is serious stuff, Mulder. Within two months, Alex Kryceck is going to wrap up his Directorial debut DANCE movie. The plot's too similar with _Danced Yesterday _… and even the production numbers are too familiar." A frustrated sough paused John's sentence. "Tell me what us want to do about this."

Mulder wasn't able to reply at once. He was too busy striking a flat fist on the bar.

The two men watched aimlessly, knowing him well enough to give him enough space and time to release some steam.

After a minute of just wishing pure hell to his nemesis, Mulder straightened himself up, massaging his reddened knuckles. "The damn thing's copyrighted! How could, how could they do that?"

"Altering a few bits and pieces of _Danced Yesterday_ doesn't alert the law, Mulder. At least, I think it doesn't. I'm no lawyer. But we can do something about it still - we could work our backs off for the next two or three months, to break the deadline for releasing it." Skinner removed his glasses and pricked the skin in between his eyes. "WB already agreed that if we finish postproduction a month earlier, they'll also release the movie as soon as June or July. What do you think?"

"You're the producer. You know best about these things," Mulder replied, resisting the unfathomable urge to hit the bar until his fucking hand bleeds. The movie's important - about $22.4 Million important to WB, and its currently topping his priority list. He'd do anything for it. He'd risk anything for it.

He ran his brain through a mental list of the things they ought to do, and suddenly he backtracked on the decision. "The second unit shots … Is that possible? To finish postproduction within a month? What about the soundtrack? The _Bee Gees_ are still going to meet Scully this Monday for the main theme song's chords."

John gave a tentative nod. "Possible if we make it possible. We'll multi-task, work our assess off in this. It's worth it. This movie's a gem," he ran a hand through his brown, spiky hair, "Kersh could go through the second unit shots, while we could do the editing. Walter could assist the Music Department and Leyla Harrison."

Doggett didn't sound as confident as he wanted him to be. His sturdy friend was more assured when he announced that he caught a horde of rats in the makeshift trap he made back in college for their dorm.

"_We_," Mulder emphasized, just feeling the after-sting of his anger's release. He rubbed on the sore spot more thoroughly, frustrated. "Where's the we in here? How do we know whose the traitor and who's the good guy?" He wanted it to sound something out of Humphrey Bogart's dialogues, but instead, it sounded way too cliché - something fit for _The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. _He shook his head slightly, scratching his chin against his shoulder. How could he think of those things at this moment? This was crucial, too crucial for Western movies.

"I've sent an undercover investigator in our movie set. I'm the only one who knows his identity. He'll be giving me a report tomorrow." Walter smoothened the collar of his shirt. "As for us … well, I think we better start fixing our schedules for the whole year. What do you say, Mulder?"

He remembered Scully and her appeal for him to come home early. He remembered that he had other priorities, that this world was not only about him - he had a woman now, a woman that he wanted to treat like a lone lily underneath the sun.

It had been years ever since he had embarked on a real relationship that this suddenly felt too new, as if he had to relearn everything again.

"I - I can't stay long," Mulder said, halting his continuous kneading on his hand. "Scully's all alone in the house … you know how dangerous it is -"

"We'll be done by twelve tonight. I promise." Walter held up a hand and crossed his heart, obviously condescending. Maybe it was the way he sounded as if he'd be whipped to death when he would come home late. The fact that Mulder was partly controlled by Scully in superficial terms did not escape his friends - but the fact that he really was NOW committed to the Spunk should escape them for the meantime.

Mulder consciously glanced at his watch, counting the hours. An hour and a half. If he phoned Scully, the guys would surely think he was becoming paranoid.

Shit.

"Sure," he replied before his heart told his mind to stop lingering on the poolside and start jumping in the warm, tempting waters.

* * *

There were many memories in his house that weren't just conceivable every day - these memories were random, casual but often striking, and sometimes creating their own chaos whenever he didn't need them to.

That was what Mulder exactly felt when he stepped up in the Manor, listened to the trudging of his clopped boots against the soft newly-mowed lawn, his shrill breathing in the early morning silence, and the intrepid beating of his heart that seemed to resonate to the tips of his brain cells.

There were flashes of him coming home this late after a hard-core party - and he accidentally tripped on the lawn hose that the gardener left from the morning; the path walk towards the front door reminded him of the time Emily broke her leg and he had to carry her from the stairs and down the car - almost breaking his leg, too, in the process; and the small hole on one of the front windows reminded him of those early-morning fights he used to have with Diana, upon knowing her extra-marital affairs and telling her that if they wanted to put up a good front for their daughter, they should at least appear devoted to each other. Mulder placed all these old notions aside, jogging up to the inside of the house, anxious to meet his new life.

He hoped his _new life _wasn't at all that mad.

Upon entering the house, a whiff of cool air salivated on his skin and he noticed the dark surroundings; the empty outline of the living room before him. The bottles of wine were cleared, the blankets and pillows they moved out of his room gone and Scully was nowhere.

A tick of panic pinched at his heart and he had to take deep breaths to calm himself. He needed to think rationally, but then again, this was Scully he was talking about: she defied rationality.

First he searched for her in the guest's bedroom, or _her_ bedroom, since they've decided that most of her things would still be kept there, but now that they were literally sleeping together, she'd have the master's bedroom as her REAL sleeping area.

He clicked on the lights, white prisms flooding the pastel-painted room and sending his eyes reeling from the sudden exposure.

She wasn't in there.

Another prick in his heart … this time of warmth. She actually slept in the master's bedroom, _their_ room, now.

A smile tugged on his lips as he climbed up the stairs, and without thinking twice, opened the slightly ajar door to their room, finding Scully curled up on the king-sized bed. She was clad in her usual silky pajamas (pink, this time, to his surprise), her face half-buried in one of his pillows. Her long, auburn hair splayed on the opposite pillow, one leg peeking from underneath the covers.

She was so beautiful. A goddess of British deviation.

He'd take a shower, wear his underwear, and shave himself before climbing on the bed with her … but Scully was too tempting to resist. From his distance on the door, he could already smell her - cucumber, baby powder, and all. He wanted to join her on the bed naked, to feel her realness against his lean body; to feel her heat, to feel her breaths. He wanted to rub against her until they become a single molecule.

So that's what he did.

By the time he had tucked himself in beside her, Scully had woken up. He tried to be as gentle with his movements, but the springs of the bed were particularly jumpy (it had enough workout from their previous activities), and he had no control over that. He did have control over the woman that was beside him, currently blinking away from her cloudy blue eyes traces of Zion.

"Mulder?" she wondered aloud, and he snaked an arm around her small waist, fingers flinging to find soft, unyielding flesh.

"I'm here," he assured her, slipping her head underneath his chin. "I came home as soon as I can."

"What time is it?" She groggily tapped on his knuckles, the ones that were stroking the dip of her bellybutton. Mulder shrugged nonchalantly, one of his bare legs draping over her own.

"One … in the morning."

"That's already soon enough for you?" she joked, though he got the distinct impression that she wanted him to read the subtext. Scully pulled his hand away from her stomach and pressed it to her lips, returning it back to where it previously was afterwards. "You're naked. You should put something on. The heater's not working right."

"I'm all right, you're here."

Even in his previous relationships - no matter how small and unmentionable they were - he had never reached this point of love struck. He hadn't converted himself to a sweet-nothing/Shakespeare/Valentino type of guy. Until Scully came along, that was.

"I cannot solve the heater's problem, Mulder, I'm saying that you might catch something."

He wanted to say, "already did," but judging from the sound of her voice - all business-like and 'don't-fuck-with-me,' he'd better say something else. "I'm fine. Go to sleep."

The other thing that Scully continued to defy, other than rationality, was him.

She turned completely around in his embrace, her soft breath settling on his collarbone, lips landing on his skin, a kiss that's enough to be pleasurable, but not enough to arouse. The way she could read him - heart, mind, soul - was one of the many uncountable reasons why he loved her.

"What happened? Is it something important?"

He could launch into the story and tell her all the finer details about how the next month would virtually be. He could gasp out the details, he could tell her that the movie's in big danger - that his supposed life's current achievement could only be a figment of his imagination, but he didn't. Instead, he tilted her head so that he could reach her lips and kissed her thoroughly, feeling out the curves and planes of her mouth, tasting the sweetness of sleep and the trepidation of worry.

Scully was made up of a million flavors. Out of that million, he had only tasted and named about twenty-two. He was going to set himself to try and brand at least half of that million.

"Don't worry, I'll tell you tomorrow," he promised and then with a tender grin playing on his lips, he skimmed his fingers in her hair, kissing her forehead. "Happy Birthday, Scully."

She let out a tired chuckle, releasing every single bit of tension that was present in her system. "Thanks."

Mulder breathed out contentedly, waiting until Scully's intakes of air slowed down, and only until then did he allow himself to forget about all his worries and be lulled to sleep.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER THIRTY ONE**


	35. Chapter Thirty Two: Sony Studios

This chapter contains sexually explicit material.

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY TWO:**

* * *

Sony LA Recording Studio  
February 24, 1986  
Monday

Static buzzed in Mulder's eardrums as he strode on the gray-colored hallways of the recording studio, shrugging off his cotton jacket as he walked, mouth upturned and eyebrows meeting in the middle. He draped the jacket on one arm, surveying with restless eyes the arrays of half-mast doors, and finally stopping when he found what he was looking for.  
The door had a taped sign that read _Danced Yesterday_. Mulder jiggled the knob and entered without any hesitation.

"Mr. Mulder?" The musical album's producer, Leyla Harrison, jumped off her seat. She quickly swallowed the morsel of bread that she was chewing on, slapping off her quarter-sleeved blouse the remnants of her eating spree. "What are you doing here? I mean, sir, we didn't expect you in here at this crucial time -"

"Good afternoon too, Leyla," Mulder deadpanned, surveying the scene around him in akimbo and ignoring the fuss of his OST producer.

The small room was already half-full with the musical instruments, mixing table, corkboard that cited what songs were to be recorded for the day, and while Leyla was relaxing in her seat, two crews for the album were working haughtily with the artist currently recording: Sting. The singer caught Mulder's eyes and gave the Director a wave while removing the large earphones from his head. Mulder waved back, forcing a smile on his dry lips. It seemed like they were still in the middle of perfecting the song, since inside the recording room, there were still at least three people debating and poking their fingers on the lyrics Sting was holding.

Returning his attention to Leyla, Mulder scratched on his chin thoughtfully. "Where's Ms. Scully?"

Leyla pinned her shiny blond hair behind her ears nervously, "She's at Room 23, Mr. Mulder. She asked permission to musically coordinate Danced Yesterday."

"Really?" Mulder almost exclaimed. He didn't expect this from Scully. "I thought the Bee Gees had arrived and surveyed the song?"

"They did and they have listened to the melody … but there's more needed for the track. Ms. Scully has offered her services," Leyla said, "I think she's got to be as involved. This is her Mother's song, anyway."

"Then we give her the liberty. Nice call, Leyla." He patted her good-naturedly on the shoulder, making the pint-sized musical producer blush, "Tell Sting I said hi."

Leyla nodded like a dumb-founded sheep.

Mulder offered her one last smile before jamming his hand on the knob to leave the recording room, shutting the door behind him. He quickly strained his neck around the quiet hallways, searching for the mentioned room number. Finally, he found it, just a few doors across Leyla's. He headed to where it was and opened the door, not mindful of what could be happening inside.

His mood was a rash on a particularly sunny day, especially after finding out what he found out a few hours ago; yet, when he saw Scully's form seated a plastic chair, strumming a guitar that was splayed on her black spandex, grinning happily as small notes rose from her instrument … everything suddenly was too good to be true.  
Ass-holing holy shit. He really was a love sick fool.

He beamed for what seemed like the first time in months, interrupting the session with his throat. Scully and the song's specific producer, Sandy Deep, snapped their heads up to him. Mulder didn't miss the excited sparkle that spilled from Scully's eyes as she discovered who their impromptu visitor was.

Sandy, an eccentric man of color and music that somewhat reminded him of the _Folies Bergere's _Jerry Jayson, shoved his orange-tinted shades up to the bridge of his nose in disapproval. "I know that this is your movie, Mr. Mulder," he toned, his Southern twang clear on his tongue, "and that this lady here is your star, but I'd appreciate a knock before you disrupt a musical session in process."

Scully bit back a snicker and tapped on her guitar, "It's well all right, Sandy … Mulder's just here to give us a hello." She raised an eyebrow at him. Mulder swallowed hard, twining his fingers behind him. She was so beautiful and it was pure will that was holding him back from pressing a kiss on her luscious lips.  
"So, hello, Mr. Mulder," she kidded, in turn strumming a low note on the, his, guitar. She was wearing an off-shoulder shirt and her actions made the skin on her right shoulder ripple deliciously against her bone.

Mulder swallowed again, harder this time. "You shouldn't be working like this. I'm here to declare the session over," he cleared, making Sandy whisk his head away in disgust. "I'm sorry, you have to understand that it's S- Dana's birthday. I have a surprise for her."

The raised eyebrow was joined with another one. "A surprise?"

He tried to ignore the skepticism in her voice.

"Yes, a surprise. This can be continued tomorrow. C'mon," he urged, holding a hand out. Scully gazed at it warily, painful reminiscent of her usual 'stabbing' gaze, and resigned to him with a shrug. She bid a warm goodbye to the musical producer with a warm kiss on Sandy's cheek while Mulder zipped his guitar in its carrying case.

When all was done, Mulder held his hand out again and this time Scully took it happily, without any more 'stabbing' gazes.

* * *

"….Tell me you didn't…"

"I did."

"Oh God … Mulder, no!"

"Yes, Scully," he grinned steadily, releasing the guitar on the ground, wrapping an arm around her waist, and elevating her a few scant centimeters off the ground. He descended his head until his mouth could reach her ear, "And stop arguing with me like we're in bed. She's all yours."

A dark crimson blush spread over Scully's face like wildfire, and she blinked furiously, trying to assess whether what's right in front of her was real - not some stupid mirage.

It really WAS true.

Before them was the latest 1986 edition _Skyhawk_, colored shimmering black and standing proudly under the Los Angeles heat. A humongous red lace ribbon was wrapped around its body, ending in a large knot atop the car's head, swirling with a bouquet of lilies that glittered with the car keys on top of them.

His Scully's eyes grew moist, and he rubbed her back to calm her down.

"You're the first to have this edition in the whole world. They won't be releasing this until next month." From her back, his hand ran up to her shoulder, tapping on the bare flesh. "What do you think? Do you like the color? You are quite fond of black AND you look good in black - "

"Oh, Mulder," Scully gushed, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling herself close to his body. Like he did, she pressed her warm mouth on his ear, hiding her face underneath the swirl of frizzy, auburn hair. "It's beautiful."

He'd test how _durable_ that car was if they weren't just out here.

Since they couldn't do option number one, he'd settle for another option number two: "Why don't you step in and drive it around LA, huh? Then we can go home and do something else," he teased, anchoring his grip on her thin waist, marveling at how her hip bones became so well defined with her spandex.

"I'm not a good driver, Mulder," she whispered into his neck. "I crash into trees and I run over people. I bloody did that to my mate back in Wales."

"Then I'd give you free lessons." Mulder gently eased Scully out of his embrace, mindful of the people passing by and who were giving them curious glances. She seemed distraught when she disconnected from his body, her hazy eyes missing that faltering spark of reality once again.

There was something bothering Scully the whole day - from the moment they woke up until now, this afternoon. It was something he couldn't put his finger on, for some strange reason, and the fact that he could read this girl by just looking into her eyes … he couldn't understand why this time, he was having a tough time figuring it all out. He didn't know if he should be scared or what.

Nevertheless, it was her birthday, and he had other surprises for her at the Manor.

"C'mon, let's go home," he offered while reaching down to get the guitar, and Scully nodded mutely, allowing him to hold her hand to lead her to her brand new car, still seemingly lost in her own world.

* * *

It could be the scent of lilac littering inside the bathroom that had his throbbing temper calmed down to the minimum, or the soothing dinner of Scully's favorite pasta primavera that he cooked … but definitely, one of the reasons why he felt like a billionaire was the sensation of Spunk's bare back against his also bare front, her smooth ass on his half-erect groin, the sound of water silently sloshing inside the tub, his arms coming up and down her silky skin, the sighs she was making.

Was it really her birthday? 'Coz it also kind of felt like his.

Mulder pressed his lips on the tip of Scully's spine, also darting his tongue out to taste her wet skin. "I love you," he murmured, not knowing why he had to say it, just sensing that he wanted to, even if she already knew so.

She sighed yet again, her small fingers finding his wandering ones on her shoulder. She gripped them, pushing a floating red rose on his wrist. "Love you, too." Her body dipped back towards his tenderly, her head coming to rest on his shoulder and forehead sticking under his chin. The once invisible-to-his-sight-mounds-of-flesh were now very visible to his eyes, nipples stiff and moving in tune with her breathing as she arched her back to get a more comfortable position on the tub.

This was pure heaven. He could stay in here forever, thank you.

With the floppy green scrubbing cloth, he began to clean her body almost rhythmically, soothing the planes of her neck, arms, chest, until finally her vibrant breasts. These body parts he paid a great deal of attention to. He scrubbed them thoroughly, loving the way the hard peaks coursed against his palm, until Scully was moaning.

He should be proud that she's this pleasured … but there was something different about the way her sounds of ecstasy were – the all seemed a bit too contrived, a bit too condescending. Before they push this further, he had to check.

"Do you want me to stop?" his husky voice queried, feeling the stirrings of arousal rising in between his legs.

Scully, who had closed her eyes during his ministrations, glided her teeth against her lip for a moment, kissed the side of his face, and nodded. In shock, Mulder dropped his hands to the side of the tub like a lifeless puppet, pushing petals of roses out and down on the floor.

"Is there something wrong?" he squeaked out desperately, feeling the lifelessness of his arms creep up into his other body parts. "Don't you like this? Is there anything else I can do?" Mulder didn't feign of the desperate creaks of his octave or the insistent pounding of his heart that he was sure Scully could feel against her shoulder blade.

She cleared her throat steadily, "No, Mulder, this is perfect…"

"Then what's wrong? There's something bothering you and I'm sure of it -"

Scully stopped him by squeezing his knee sharply, eliciting a surprised yelp from his throat.

"Let me finish, Mulder," she scolded him, though her hand started circling the pinched part of his skin. "This probably is the best birthday I've ever had, but I know that you have a problem behind this. You've told me about Alex Kryceck and MGM this morning. You _didn't_ tell me about the investigator."

Mulder gritted his teeth, anchoring both of his hands on the edges of the tub. He didn't want to talk about this - not now, especially when he's planning on enjoying a wonderful night with Scully. He planned this to be perfect beyond means and words. He's not going to let talking shop screw it up.

"No, I didn't and I'm not telling you now. I'll tell you later," he pressed on firmly. Scully ignored this. She surprised him by lifting her body off his, coming to rest opposite his position so that they were effectively face-to-face: the soles of her feet landing underneath his inner thighs and on the porcelain wall behind him. Now that they were in this position, he could perfectly see the angry concern etched on her freckled face, her stiff, rosy pink nipples puckering even more in the cold air that met them when she straightened her body.

They may be involved now, but she's still Spunk. And Spunk got whatever she wanted. From him.

"I want to know NOW, Mulder. I'm not going to let you parade around, acting as if nothing's bothering you - I know your mood when you arrived at Sony this afternoon. I know why you were quiet on the way home. And I know that I'm not going to let you make love to me tonight without telling me what's going on."

Mulder relented, pushing his forehead down on his palm. "Scully, please, I don't want to talk about this. This is YOUR time -"

"I also know that it is my birthday, but … I'm not going to let you pretend. We're in this together, Mulder, and I want you to understand that even if … even if we're already in a relationship, I'm still your best friend," she gently probed his hand away from his face, cradling it close to her chest. "As your best friend, I want to help you. You're obviously upset by this."

She must be getting a few pointers from his 'no-quitting' lessons.

"Fine," he gave in, pulling his hand back from her. Mulder gazed down, watching the water stir in tune with his breathing, watching Scully's legs tense as she waited for his answer, and watching himself cross his arms, suddenly cold.

"Alvin Kersh," Mulder mumbled under his breath. The bathroom was so quiet that Scully immediately picked it up, reacting with a hand to her mouth.

"No …"

"Yes, it's Kersh. He was paid to divulge important information of _Danced Yesterday_. Since Kryceck saw in Vegas that you were working for me, he … searched for a loophole, a weak link. He found Kersh - giving him a cool one million - and the bastard admitted to his fucking …" Suddenly, all the frustration and anger that had been welling inside of him since that morning rose to his head. He smacked his hand on the water, splashing it everywhere and surprising Scully, and then jumped out of the bathtub dripping wet, half-erect, fuming with rage.

"Why did you have to insist?" he demanded, clenching his fists, keeping his eyes on the porcelain sink. "All I wanted was this evening to be perfect because it's YOUR birthday! I didn't want any bullshit reminders of what happened this morning! It's taken care of and that's all you NEED to know!"

"Since when did becoming your girlfriend reduced me to THAT? I'm still your main actress, Mulder, and I deserve information on this movie!"

"THIS wasn't supposed to ruin tonight! I planned this, Scully! I didn't let that fucking thing ruin it! And you just had to bring it up!"

"I BROUGHT it up because deep inside of you, you needed to have it brought up… you cannot hide the pain from me - I know you're trying to make this perfect …" Her voice faltered, and he realized that they had been arguing with his back to her.

Mulder immediately swirled around, finding Scully's eyes downcast on the water. The fury was replaced with fear and empathy; he inwardly cursed himself in his head for arguing with her. It was like a physical pull when they bickered. It came out so naturally that he didn't have the right reflexes to stop it.

"I'm sorry, Scully. I must've really ruined this now." He kneeled down beside the tub, anchoring his elbows on the rim. He picked her hand up and held it inside his grip, while his other hand came to tilt her head, forcing her to look at him.

Scully swallowed hard, and he sensed that she was trying her best not to cry. "No, you didn't - it still is perfect, and it IS - but there are some things that cannot be settled for later. This matter had to be settled right now. Don't run away from me, Mulder." She kissed his hand that covered hers gingerly, tracing her nose on his rough knuckles. "This affects me too, so I had no choice but to bring it up as soon as possible. You were obviously bothered. I know how much this means to you."

"Not as much as you mean to me," he bent forward to kiss her earlobe, praising Shakespeare Mulder's appearance, lingering his lips to chew on the softness of her skin. "You don't need to worry, it's fine, it's under control. I didn't think you'd need to know."

"Mulder, you don't have to protect me."

"I DO," he firmly stated, removing his lips from her ear and looking at her straight in the eye. "You are _my_ actress, you are _my_ girlfriend, and it is _my_ job to make sure you get the best publicity. This shouldn't be your concern," he paused. Hearing the word 'best publicity' tugged something inside of him. What they were exactly doing wasn't going to give Scully 'best publicity.'

"It's okay, I don't care how they would see me, that's their problem. I may be only twenty, well, twenty-one, Mulder, but don't … hide anything from me. I don't want you to feel that you have to protect me."

"You're so fragile, Scully."

He melted into a puddle of liquid as those words were vented out, resting his head on the tub's rim, the sudden shift of his emotions indescribable. "You're so beautiful, so small, so thin, so sickly, you still get occasional nosebleeds … I'm almost afraid of making love to you tonight. It's just so overwhelming. You, Kryceck, the pressure to finish the movie - I want to wrap it all in one ball so that I could juggle it accordingly. I don't want to screw up." He ran a hand through his partly-wet hair. "God, what am I talking about? I must be delusional tonight, I'm sorry."

"No, you're not delusional. You're just right. You're fine." Scully nuzzled his hair, breathing in his scent until he felt as if there was none of him left. Christ, it felt good to be devoured by her. "You're not going to screw it up. I'll make sure that you don't."

"And what if I do?"

"Then, we'll rebuild it all over again. We fucked and I'm not going to take that back. It's too bloody good to take back."

He lifted his head towards her face and laughed.

* * *

The scent of chamomile wafted in the room, caressing his nostrils and bleeding away his surroundings until all he could see, hear, touch, and feel was this small woman underneath him. Scully was lying on her front, her face bent to one side, hands flat on the cushion, naked from head to toe. Meanwhile, he was straddling her with his ass resting on the back of his heels to crush his enormous weight, palms glistening with oil and roaming all over his lady's back.

The evening was progressing as he wanted it to. After they settled their argument in the bathroom, Scully allowed him to lead her towards the bedroom, where he set up dozens of candles, readied the chamomile oil on the bedside table, and surrounded the bed with lilies. Other women would prefer roses, but not Scully: lilies were her go-to flowers.

He padded his thumbs on the indention of her shoulder, rubbing the chamomile slowly on her glowing skin. "You know what chamomile does?"

Scully opened one eye, lifting her head slightly from the bed. "What?" she asked curiously.

Mulder glided his palms from her shoulder, and straight to her neck, circulating his fingers on the tip of her spine. He was no professional masseuse, but he grabbed whatever felt best for his woman through the sounds she emitted. "Its properties are almost hypnotic … relaxing your bones and is known to be very appealing to the sense of smell. But the reason why I chose it for tonight is because it's anti-anemic." He grinned when he saw that she also did. "I spent a whole hour of reading labels in the aromatherapy store."

"It feels good," she confessed, moaning when his thumbs worked down her spine once again.

"I'm glad you're not getting nosebleeds frequently anymore."

"You … your d … damn liver steaks are helping …"

"Good to hear," he whispered, leaning close to her ear, prodding his stiff rod on the soft cheeks of her ass, making her whimper. "Let's make like Romans, Scully, and do this four times a day. They used to bathe themselves with essential oils …"

"And milk baths?"

"Milk baths are good … sticky, sweet, good." He skimmed his hands over her ass, resisting the incredible urge to touch himself. Jesus, she was so lovely, lying there on her back, not making a single effort to seduce him and there he was: wanting her all the same. He had never felt such an incredible need for anyone - feeding off from his unconsciousness and striking his lust from where he had kept it hidden all those years. His sexual desires had been suppressed for so long that when they were released from their cages, they were unstoppable. And he swore, only Scully will ever have the key to them.

"You like this?" He pinched her ass cheeks, making her give out a half-moan/half-yelp. When she didn't answer, his index finger dipped lower, down into her softness, teasing the outer walls until she was clutching the bed sheets desperately.

"Do you?"

"Yes," she hushed out, and that was all the consent he needed for him to plunge a finger inside of her.

Scully hitched a breath upon feeling his digit within her, slicking her depths, moving inside and out slowly. Her eyes shut, forehead contorting in extreme pleasure. He let another one of his fingers join inside, his other hand firm on her ass to keep her from bucking into him and dislodging himself from his position.

"Mulder, please … please … in me, NOW," Scully desperately pleaded when his thumb swirled dangerously slow against her clitoris.

Even if she couldn't see him, he shook his head, flicking of strands of sweat to who-knew-where. "No, Scully, I pleasure you first, and then you get me."

She heaved out a sigh of frustration, making him snicker, increasing the frantic pumping of his fingers into her cervix.

Then, to his utter shock, Scully hooked one leg on his ankle, pulling it to her right and suddenly toppling him to his side, fingers immediately leaving her insides. Another pull made him land on his back, with his two feet still stuck in the kneeling position, high up in the air. Scully giggled, pushing his knees down and straightening his legs. The sharp numbness reminded Mulder of the minutes he had spent on his knees, and he would've protested if Scully didn't straddle him at once, grasping his cock on its base.

"Damn you!" he cried out, acting as if he was annoyed by her interference. But she knew better - by the look on his face, anyway, she should know better.

"So, you're cursing me now, huh? A shift in our relationship changes respect?"

"I've been cursing you for a long time," he said with a glimmer in his eyes, reaching out to touch her hipbones, framing her small waist. "You know what kind of _cursing_ I do."

"_Fuck_ me?" she tried, and he raised an eyebrow, replicating the way she usually did with hers. Scully shook her head as if disappointed in him.

"Ah, but Mr. Mulder," she placed a hand on his lip, his tongue darting out to taste her. "It's the other way around tonight … I'm going to fuck you."

Mulder's tongue on her finger stilled when she said those words, his eyes widening. Damn fuck shit. Damn. Fuck. Shit!

During the limited lovemaking that they had the chance to experience, it was him who always was on top. He wasn't sure if Scully was comfortable with the idea of him watching her, or being in the spotlight - he just thought that it would be better if he didn't ask. But now, it seemed like Scully had the last laugh.

Making her hand flutter through his rod one last time, and in his fuzzy mind, he registered her reaching over on the table, grabbing a sealed condom from the box he bought last Saturday. Scully ripped it open with her teeth, tossing the remnants of the packaging on the floor, and then eased the rubber over his dick. She anchored her legs on the blank spots beside his hip, biting her lip as she stretched her legs apart. In one swift stroke, she impaled herself, surrounding his hardness with her slick caverns, making them both groan.

The hands he had on her hips shadowed upwards to her breasts, stroking softly at the flesh before pressing and tugging incessantly, bending Scully towards him for a kiss. Sloppy, passionate, heady, intoxicating.

Upon the release, Scully shifted her hips upwards, causing a spasm somewhere inside of his brain. "Y- you called … m- me .. aa … something … during our … first … n-night together," she was able to say, anchoring her arms on his chest, while his own fingers were busy pinching her bosoms.

Mulder drew forward and licked a trail of sweat from her brow, "What did I call you?" He was actually surprised that his voice sounded calm, almost serene even if her cunt was sliding up and down his cock in a steady rhythm that slowly was driving him wild.

Scully ran her tongue all over her lips, cleaning up and down, thinking hard, before finally saying: "_Chéri_, you called me … in French." The strokes that she began were now incessant, heavenly against his throbbing dick, and he couldn't help himself when he let out a thrust, making sure he had a firm grasp on her upper torso so that she wouldn't fall down. She pressed her lips on his hair, for the first time slightly taller than him. "What … what does that mean?"

Mulder smiled lovingly at her, caressing the soft flush of her pale cheeks, brushing away wayward strands of auburn hair from her sweaty forehead. "_Chéri_ means darling," he choked out, feeling his heart swell in gargantuan proportions.

Her rhythm halted for a moment, her dilated blue eyes probing into his amber, lust-filled ones. "I … I like that very much, Mulder." She breathed in, "It sounds so … classic. _Darling._ _Chéri_." Her always evident British accent created a wonderful twang to the word.

That was when the world closed in on them, urging them to give themselves to each other, to give themselves to what was natural. Their strokes met urgently, leaving behind the fine art of seduction and finesse, suddenly too overwhelmed with the wanton need that they were like two animals searching for truth in the vast world - finding it within each other. Too crazy in love to remember that they were still two separate beings, that there was still man and woman. No, Mulder and Scully were now one being, one entity; merged, unified.  
And it must be what John was talking about, about that devotion, about that love: the someone who would replace his wine addiction because he'd rather taste her than the fine red liquid. He suddenly knew what was his defining title for him and Scully: man-woman, nothing less and everything that's more. They were beyond girlfriends and boyfriends, well past that stage. They were lovers, in the truest sense of the word.

Who could've thought that a simple start could end up to this? He swore against swearing that he hated this woman and that she'd never dominate him. He assumed that she thought the same about him. Look at where they were now.

He must've really done something good in the past few years that pleased the Big Guy up there.

When their orgasms came, rocking each other to oblivion before she dropped heavily on his chest, panting, her inner muscles still trembling on his softening dick, he noticed fresh tears at the edge of his Scully's eyelids. He brushed them away with his thumb.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?" he probed. Scully held the hand that flickered her tears away and pursued her lips on it.

"Thank you for tonight, Mulder," she replied, raising her head to gaze at him. "This is more than perfect."

He agreed outright, before removing her body gently atop his, wincing at the lost of contact. The decision for him to use condom - even if he could always withdraw - was immediately his, even if Scully offered to take birth control pills. He didn't want any more pills inside of Scully, judging from the usual placid paleness that she had been sporting, and the pounds that she had been losing because of her continuous dancing.

Mulder plucked the used condom from his penis, inching Scully down on the bed. He stood up, telling Scully to relax and that he'd clean up the mess so that she wouldn't bother in the morning. She nodded, overcome with fatigue.

In no time, Mulder was back in the bed with her, easing his head on her chest, pillowing on her soft breasts. When they first tried this position, he vaguely wondered if he was ever hurting her this way, but Scully seemed to enjoy his soft weight on her chest, so he didn't question anymore.

He hugged her tightly against him, stroking her backside, feeling Scully slip slowly into dreamland. "_Je vous aime_, _Chéri_," Mulder said, leaving a kiss atop her porcelain skin.

Scully threaded her fingers through his hair, and then finally rested her chin on the crown of his head. No translation needed, this time: "I love you too, Mulder." Maybe, no translation would ever be needed between the two of them for as long as they were together.

Mulder hugged her tighter around her waist. It wasn't his birthday, but he couldn't help but also make a wish: _Forever_, he thought, _just give me forever with this girl and I wouldn't ask for anything more. _Then, he fell asleep and dreamt of lilies, Scully laughing with him on that familiar grassy plain, where the pond nearby shimmered like the sparkles in her blue eyes.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER THIRTY TWO**

* * *

This is the last chapter that has ever been published online. The next ones up until the end are all unpublished. As for my writing, I'm only three chapters until the end of Spunk. A bit of an anecdote: my writing mentor, upon finding out that I have had three novel-length fanfics online that I never finished (or abandoned during the most interesting parts), remarked that I have a problem with "letting go." I've thought about what he said and realized that it's true: I see my stories as real people and I often panic when they're about to end because it feels like they're leaving me, so I leave them first. _Spunk_ took me fifteen years before I could finally decide that I'm ready to let it go. The last few chapters are giving me enough time and space for the let go. I'm ready. I hope you readers are, too.

As for making Mulder and Scully happy … hmm, I can't promise that just yet. Scully's past has a lot to do with this so we have to wait and see if and when we'll find out what she's hiding from him!


	36. Chapter Thirty Three: Outside WB Studios

This chapter contains sexually explicit material.

And this is it, folks: previously unpublished Spunk material from here on. Enjoy!

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY THREE:**

* * *

Outside Warner Brother Studios  
Los Angeles  
March 10, 1986  
Monday

"They told me I have until April 20 to finish postproduction. The premiere's set in June."

"It's going much faster than the usual postproduction process. Are you sure you can do this?"

"Yes, I think I can." Mulder ran a hand through his coarse hair, wincing when the ridges of his fingers felt the dryness of his scalp. Added stress made him forget that he had himself to take care of lately. Squinting his eyes as he looked up towards the enraged sun, he continued his self-confidence booster statements: "I have Walter with me, John's sacrificing most of his new-family time for this movie, and … even if Kersh's already gone, I could work on those second unit shots mysef."

"You look haggard, Mulder," Byers remarked softly, shuffling his feet on the curb, unsurely pushing the words out of his throat. It had been sometime since they last conversed like this, but it was true: when all else failed, Mulder DID turn to Byers for some help. The short, brown-haired man had answers for every single question Mulder could raise about himself and the advices his friend gave him always helped him, no matter how much Mulder resisted them at first.

"You're squeezing so much of yourself for this movie … you know, racing against time just to beat MGM and Krycek out of the loophole. How about Spunk? How's she doing?"

Honestly, Mulder hadn't physically been with Scully for three days straight now. She slept in the recording studio to wrap things up for the theme song with the Bee Gees, while he also slept in Warner Brothers during the past week. He called her at least thrice a day - wanting to hear her voice more often, at the same time being cautious so as not to arouse any suspicions from their colleagues.  
But Scully would be wrapping up the song tonight and he had asked Skinner to take over their editing process for the next few days so that he could be with her. He made a very gracious alibi: he needed some time off - time off in his own house where he could wash his hair with HIS shampoo, not some dinky hand-me-downs from the Big Bosses. They didn't know that Scully would be going home from work tonight and that they'd be spending some much-needed time together, too.

Of course, Byers knew none of that either, since they had vowed that they would never speak of their relationship to others, so he gave his friend a quick nod and a patient smile. "Scully's fine. We're tolerate each other more nowadays, but we're both very busy so that may be why we're tolerant. We rarely see one another around the house." He chuckled that one out, not helping himself. His inner voice mocked him, shouting, _Really now? You sleep in one bed and you rarely see one another?_

Well, it's kind of true. They had not been together for three days. And his need was incredibly insistent.

Pushing thoughts of Scully out of his brain before Byers noticed something fishy; he wheezed air out of his lungs. "I'm going home tonight, though. I've have had enough of dozing off in sleeping bags right here. I'm done for, going to take a nice shower and just … relax."

"That's good to hear. How's Emily?"

"We saw each other yesterday. She's going to her doctor tomorrow for a check-up. She looks great – beautiful and huge, but she's happy. I offered to go with her but she declined," Mulder sighed deeply, and then, his head snapped up when a car passed by the road in front of them, cautious that it might be the paparazzi. The outbursts of reporters had been horrendous lately and this was actually the first time he was able to sneak outside the studio to be able to talk to Byers. "Umm, she wanted me to concentrate on the movie."

"Are you going to meet her today? I could drive you to the hospital." Byers gestured towards his van, parked at the opposite side of the street. Mulder had previously offered to meet him in McDonalds where they can divulge lunch, but the man refused, saying that the Director had too many concerns to even take a step away from WB.

"No. I'm staying here until 6 PM tonight. And then I'm going home. I need to go home. There's something about sleeping in my own bed." And beside Scully, too. Mulder scratched an imaginary itch on his nose to hide the smile that was tugging on the sides of his lips.

"Okay." Byers grinned, drawing forward and patting on his forearm - a gesture that reminded him so much of his Father's. Maybe that's the main reason why he had to have these once-a-month serious conversations with Byers - the man had the talent to keep Mulder in check, as his Father-figure of some sorts, someone he could rely on when everything's going to hell. Unlike Scully, Byers could never make him feel BETTER, but at least he though clearer after talking with his friend.  
Unfortunately, he couldn't tell his friend about his latest relationship with the Spunk. Mulder wasn't sure he was ready to be on the receiving end of his friend's unbearable reaction.

"Thanks, Byers."

"You're welcome, Mulder. Anytime."

* * *

It was a matter of trust: he could still be Atlas and handle the weight of the world on his shoulders without seeing Scully because he knew she'd be there when he needed her to be there. It was a matter of loyalty: he knew that she'd be there because she loved him. And it was a matter of the heart: she loved him because she simply did.  
That evening though, all his reigning Spunk rules flew out of the door before he laid a hand on the latch.

Once he entered the Manor, he was only able to lock the door behind him before being pelted by straining kisses, frantic hugs, and garbled whispers. Scully wrapped her arms around his neck, desperately trying to elevate her small stature in order to reach Mulder's lips without any second to spare. He immediately responded, bending his back to give them their much- needed reunion. They were new lovers: still caught in the heat of the revelry; still patting the ground for where they should stand. They needed all the time in the world. The world was quite stingy.

His tongue swiped across Scully's and he didn't keep his groan of pleasure from her, letting it vibrate into her throat. Pulling from her magnetic lips, he was able to whisper, "Missed you," before plunging back again.

Scully chose not to answer him verbally, opting to just show him how much by wrapping her legs around his waist. His hands slid down from her hips and down to her buttocks, to keep her to him. He wanted to feel her skin, wanted his nerve endings to be awakened by her, wanted to be surrounded by her.

There wasn't enough time - there wasn't enough patience present - and before he knew it, his pants were already discarded into a pile of heap behind him, intimately twined with Scully's clothing. It was just like that - her hands all over him and removing whatever kept their skin apart and his hands blindly groping her body – and suddenly, they were all alone in the world. The world was theirs and it had no more reason to be parsimonious.

In his last gasping breath of semblance, Mulder removed his mouth from Scully's and gently tugged her to the stair's direction. "C'mon, we can't do this here. Up there," he panted out, swimming his fingers into her soft, curly hair. He stared into her eyes for the first time in three days and it felt like a century since he had looked at her this way. Goddammitt, he did miss her so damn fucking bad.

Blue eyes flickered indignantly. "No here. Now."

Hazel eyes ignited in post-electrocution and lust took over the dark green pasture. No one needed to be told twice. He's an obedient lover.

Without breaking eye contact, Scully allowed Mulder to let her body slide down to the floor, only flinching once when her bare back met with the cold porcelain tiles. He stopped for a moment, heaving hard, waiting for her to find a comfortable position. He wanted to reach behind and grab any piece of clothing to let her lay down on, but Scully refused to let him go. When a smile found her swollen, pink lips, Mulder removed his hands from her shoulder blades and settled it on her hips.

"Did you miss me?" His voice sounded suspiciously like that ailing first grader, but Scully didn't seem to mind when she gave a small nod despite her aroused state.

Bending his head down to her cleavage, he inhaled her scent - suspiciously missing of baby powder, replaced with musky sweat and he didn't know which aroused him more: the musky female sweat or her knees bending and spreading open for him. Just for him.  
He honestly wanted to taste every inch of her - to rediscover again the planes of her body, to see if his bite marks on her inner thighs were still there, to at least taste where that musky sweat extends to, and fuck, he wanted to take his time in the world, but unfortunately, Scully had other ideas. Spunk was never meant to be patient. What she wanted, she'd get.

She crossed her ankles behind him, right over his buttocks, and pushed her inner thighs forward to his aching groin, making sure that he felt the contact atop his cock. And yeah, he sure did: it made him see stray stars all over his living room.

Mulder tried to pull away, to get a moment wherein he could worship her, but Scully pulled his head down to her and kissed him again. Sloppy, ecstatic, and delicious. Tasting of iced tea, coffee, and longing. Pure longing.  
That final second when he hovered above her and rubbed his cock against her clit, entering Scully was his destiny - his ultimate deity. Quickly, she opened a condom with her hands (where it came from, he wasn't sure and didn't care) and shoved it down his shaft. Her manhandling almost hurt, until she guided him into her.

She inhaled sharply when she felt his cock push through her walls, tensing all over for a reason he couldn't understand. From her clavicle, he transferred his hands on her inner thighs, pushing them down to a comfortable level where they weren't squeezing his sides and they weren't squeezing her inner vaginal walls. He wanted her to relax.

Once he had sheathed himself in Scully's warmth, the world at last faded and decided to tap dance for a different audience. They were finally alone. They could finally be together. Scully sighed; curving her lips into a lazy smile and took Mulder by his hair, lifting his face from hers.

"Your hair … you haven't shampooed them for a while, huh?"

How in the world she noticed that small detail in their current position was something that's lost to him. And in that moment, he was instantly aroused by it.

"No, didn't get the chance," Mulder replied, his hips moving into that instinctive beat that he enjoyed and Scully adored: thrust, circle, pull out, thrust, circle, pull out. Just for kicks, when he would see Scully enjoying that rhythm, he would alternate the course and she'd jerk his head to remind him what she wanted. Then he'd laugh and kiss her. She'd forgive him in no time.

And yes, Mr. Washington, he was able to tame the Amazon. But the Amazon tamed him first.

Then the point would come - there would be dancing Scullys all around him and they would all be wearing these sheer, colorful lingerie, doing their sexy mambo just for him - and he'd explode into nothingness, groaning his heart out to this small woman underneath him and she'd be too busy with her own climax to groan back. Those were the snapshots of his life he'd always treasure and he'd always keep them in the safest vaults of his heart.

Mulder sniffed at Scully's shoulder, trying to catch his breath. In the hazy notion of his fogged brain, he knew his weight was crushing her, but his body was still too heavy to move. She was patient, as usual, waiting for him to recover.

Finding strength, he dug his elbows on the floor beside her breasts, his eyes still closed when he pressed a kiss on her sweaty forehead. "And how was your day, Ms. Scully?"

He found her laughing, both of them finding the situation ridiculous. They were grown adults! They should have had enough control.

But no. After three days, here they were - a few steps from the front door, naked, still connected to each other, sweaty. And he wanted to do it all over again. Maybe this time, upstairs.

"It's better now, Mr. Mulder," Scully professed, her British accent giving her answer a lazy twang. His weight was poking her down onto the hard floor, but other than pushing him away, she embraced him tighter.

* * *

A few hours and numerous times of lovemaking later, they had maneuvered themselves in the master's bedroom successfully, only with a few mistakes on the way up the stairs (they tried to kiss their way up to the room, but only were rewarded by tumbling down three flights _asses_ down).

Scully was drifting in and out of consciousness, trying her best to keep awake, seeing that her lover was still up. But during her final battle, she surrendered to the quiet lull of Frank Sinatra in the background while he spread her red hair around the pillowcase, letting her cheek rest on his chest.

The first time he felt secure was in his Father's arms, when he was three years old. It was after he tripped on the sidewalk, landing him backwards on the open road. There he was, young and as frightened as a deer, staring face-to-face at a roaring truck that seemed to be out of control. His Dad grabbed him just in time, hauling him out of the truck's face and into his strong arms. There should be a second time, and even a hundredth time, wherein he felt such security, but nothing came as vivid as that moment with Scully in their bed. Her soft breathing on his chest, her hand enclosed in his grip, her bare leg over his waist, them covered in one blanket.

All was fine with the world.

Enough thinking, his mind beeped, and he agreed easily enough. All his fatigue disappeared. There were more important matters he should sink into. Literally.

Mulder shifted to his side, facing Scully's front. Her head dropped from his shoulder, easing gently onto the pillow.

He grumbled his disapproval of the quilt that covered her nakedness, slowly inching it from her intertwined arms and successfully pulling it down to her protruding hip bones. Her bone structures were aghast against the thin, white layers of her skin.

Was she this thin when she was young? Had she always been graced with this enviable figure? She wasn't tall and she wasn't as striking as those women in Guess ads, but she had these fine lips, tantalizing blue eyes, a figure that dancing trimmed, and of course, her Spunkness.  
Scully would look great in anything, but he believed that she appeared best when she's like this: wearing only her own skin. He could clearly see the light sprinkle of freckles over her nose bridge, wantonly gaining up on her cheeks, and then spreading like wildfire over her shoulders. They disappear immediately around her chest, deliciously dipping down to her cleavage. Full breasts line up on her front, easing with every breath she took. The curve of her waist, the flatness of her stomach - a testament of her unrelenting love of dancing - and of course, her woman's flesh that was housed in between her thighs. One of his favorite Scully parts. Did anyone adore Scully like this before? Did anyone give her as much attention as he was giving her right now?  
Easing his hand down from her hipbones and to her stomach, he traced a faint scar underneath her belly button. Judging from the way it merged with her skin and it's faintness, it must've been from a bike ride from her early childhood or Scully climbing up the tree to prove to her brothers her strength as a woman. What if it was from a terrible accident? How would he react to that?

His index finger traced that scar over and over again; amazed that Scully's skin could house such an imperfection. She was porcelain to Mulder, unmarred by the harshness of life. When she came to him, that drunken night in Lone Glitter, she was dropped from heaven into his waiting arms.

Eyes that had been dormant a second earlier were now fluttering awake, together with a delectable smile that eased his thoughts into a locked music box.

Scully placed a hand over his own, unwittingly pushing his attention away from her scar. "Go to sleep, Mulder. You haven't gotten enough sleep the past few days."

Grogginess was still her best friend and he didn't want them to be enemies. When Scully's all tired and sleepy, it gave him more leverage. She couldn't argue with him. She couldn't tell him off. She couldn't even touch him. It's him touching her and adoring her. That's the way it should always be.

"I'm fine." He removed his hand from her grasp and instead caressed her cheek. "How 'bout you?"

"Sleepy, knackered so … but if you want to talk about anything that's bothering you, I'm not that tired." Scully blinked several times, physically and mentally preparing herself for his answer. But Mulder just shook his head, knowing that it was the better option.

He wanted to talk about many things actually - he wanted to ask her about her past, he wanted to ask her some of the questions that his mind raised while he explored her body silently, he wanted to know a bit about what she's keeping from him. It wasn't a big issue between them: Scully kept something from Mulder and he saw it whenever he looked into her eyes. If ever he thought about trying to discover what it was, he'd always remember the fright that radiated from her soul that traumatic evening when she had the worst of her nightmares, and he'd stop himself. If that was the cost of Scully digging up her past just for him, then he'd give her more time.  
He was impatient and was famous for it, and he knew that it's only his love for this woman that's holding him back from asking her. Scully meant the world to him and he couldn't risk losing her.

Anyway, what more could he ask for? What's the past when he had her present and future? There were more things that needed their attention. He could forget about that incessant nagging at the back of his brain for a while.

"Mulder," Scully started, worry tracing each syllable. "Is something wrong? You seem distracted. I'm here and I'm not that tired." She stumbled over her last words, repeating them over to make sure he understood her. She was the teacher again; he the primary school pupil.

He opened his mouth to tell her about what's bothering him, when the phone attacked the serenity of Frank Sinatra's voice and tranquility of the night.

Instinctively, Scully lifted her head up from the pillow, darting her eyes around the room as if she was jarred from Wonderland. Mulder groaned aloud, urging himself out of the bed before Scully found a way to do that herself.

In the background, Sinatra droned on, not even protesting at this interruption.

"It could be a prank phone -"

"No, it could be Emily." Mulder jerked himself from the bed, taking some time to shake his head and then started walking towards the door. He grimaced as the air conditioning met with his bare, slick flesh.

"Mulder, you're naked," Scully called out, her voice slurring with her sleepiness. He reflexively looked back, just in time to catch his boxers right on his face. Scully giggled her girly laugh once again, making him smile droopily while he did some impromptu acrobatics to get the boxers on.

Reaching the den was uneventful, except for the fact that he didn't realize how tired he was until he bounded off the bedroom and down to the stairs. His knees almost gave out under him when he forced them to jump two steps at a time.

Before he realized it, he already had the phone pressed onto his slight stubble, whispering a ragged "Hello" into the receiver.

"Mr. Mulder? This is Jenny."

Hearing his housekeeper's voice made him stand up straighter against the desk. His brain did the necessary connections and before he knew it, he was as alert as ever.

"Jenny? How's Emily? Is she fine? Is something wrong?"

"Mr. Mulder, Mr. Spender asked me to call you. He didn't want to leave Ms. Emily's bedside tonight. But please do come here in the hospital at once. I think there's something wrong."

"Jenny," Mulder sternly said, even if there was a slight quiver in his tone, "Tell me what's wrong. What do you understand about my daughter's condition?"

The kind, middle-aged woman relented for a second, before admitting into the phone, "Mr. Mulder … Emily's baby is dead. And her health is in danger."

Frank Sinatra's cassette tape clicked to an end.

The phone dropped from Mulder's fingertips, landing on the carpeted floor with a muffled thud, with Jenny left shouting his name frantically from the other line. At the same time, a single startled sob crept out of Mulder's throat.

* * *

"Mulder, please do slow down."

He didn't want to slow down, so he purposely ignored Scully's plea.

Scully tightened her faltering grip on his bicep, pulling him backwards to her. Mulder shrugged her hand away, his mind set on reaching the elevator before his mind and heart crashed in on him.

A doctor accidentally bumped into him, propelling him to the wall. The scrambling doctor lifted his hands up and mouthed a small 'sorry' before taking more careful strides towards the busy Emergency Room. Apparently, almost half of Los Angeles had their crisis to deal with.  
At his right, a woman gently huddled on the bench. She flipped through a Time magazine, licking her lips nervously while self-consciously looking over her shoulder into one of the hospital rooms. Opposite her, an overweight woman was arguing with her doctor about the current state of her diet. The doctor was handling the situation suavely, but Mulder could see in his eyes how much he wanted to give himself a much-needed break from all the chaos.

Mulder closed his eyes momentarily and shook his head. That doctor wasn't alone.

"Mulder, please," Scully called from behind him, trying her best to keep up with him. She wasn't hesitant about dressing up within 15 minutes to join him to the hospital, but she was cautious about not pushing herself too much. She was taking her time to adjust to her fear while trying to adjust to his own fears, too. "Please …" she paused, as if not knowing what she's pleading for anymore, then continued, "stop. You are going to strain yourself."

"I can't stop, Scully. My daughter's …" He found himself out of breath, but forged on to the elevator. Never mind trying to explain. There would be time for it later on.

He landed in front of the elevator doors, pushing the UP incessantly. Finally, Scully reached him, drawing her breath in and tucking unruly hair behind her ears.

"Look, I understand that you cannot stop." She blinked the weariness and barely concealed fear from her eyes, running her tongue over her dry lips. Mulder rested his shoulder on the nearest wall, watching Spunk intently. She looked down at her feet, at his feet, then back up at his face. "But at least let me catch up with you."

He wanted to look her in the eye, to read what she meant by that, to see what she wanted him to see, but he had enough thoughts in his mind to even think about anything else. Mulder just nodded mutely, throwing his forlorn gaze at the slight dip of her shirt's neckline.

"Promise me that, Mulder."

"Okay." It wasn't exactly a promise, but it was enough for her. It was enough to ensure her that he wouldn't shut down in on her in this drastic situation.

The elevator whistled a "ping!" to signal their arrival. As the people inside made room for them, Mulder gestured for Scully to enter and placed a hand on the small of her back, ushering her into the elevator before he stepped in.

Emily's hospital room was dark, morbid - an expected scene for the situation at hand. Outside on a bench, Jenny knitted furiously, trying to ignore the commotion inside the room. Inside was another story.

Jeffrey Spender was at his wife's bedside, tightly grasping Emily's hand and facing the predicament with an armored face. He was an army man and was trained to specifically mask his emotions. At that moment, Mulder wanted to squeeze him like a pulp to get him to cry - like he unabashedly did when he saw his daughter's condition.  
On the bed, Emily was hooked to a sea of wires and beeping machines. Dark rings settled underneath her eyes, her lips chapped and dry, her skin lackluster, one hand over her still swollen stomach. She was only asleep, not necessarily anesthetized, but in a state of necessitated relaxation.

One look at his baby did Mulder in. He landed on his daughter's bedside, sobbing incoherently as Scully hushed him, directing him to cry on her chest.

Finally, when he regained himself, Jeff began to explain in a slow monotone what had happened to Emily: "She noticed yesterday that something was wrong. She told me that the baby hasn't been kicking for almost three days and she's worried about its health. I didn't think it was serious, so we waited until her check-up dates because it was only a few days away. When the doc … checked on the ultrasound … we found out that … the baby has been dead for a maximum of four days," Jeffrey choked out, caressing his wife's hand in a gesture of strength.

Mulder sat down on a stray chair inside the room, with Scully at his side. She was standing uneasily and looking fairly worried herself, eyes darting from Mulder to Emily.

Jeff continued, his eyes only on Emily and her ragged face. "When we rushed her into the ER, no one could tell us what brought this on. Believe me in on this, Dad - but I've never hurt Emily, she never smoked or did drugs, she didn't get sick, she didn't …" A lone tear spilled from his right eye and he wiped it before it could even materialize. "There's no logical explanation. Now they have to induce labor or else there's a high risk of sepsis, infection."

"The-the baby's already matured. She's already nine months … how could this have had happened?" Mulder demanded, his voice reaching an intensity he didn't know it had. Scully placed a hand on his tense shoulders, a silent plea for him to calm down.

Nevertheless, this woke Emily up, her long brown lashes fluttering tiredly at her father. For a moment, it seemed that she forgot where she was and her brain took time to recognize the surroundings. After a minute, recognition flooded her eyes, together with a kind of sadness that Mulder had never seen in her before. God … he never wanted to see that in his daughter again.

"Hey Dad," she softly called out, then noticing Scully, "Hey Dana."

Mulder didn't even have the strength to return the greeting. But for the sake of giving the room some spirit, he forced a smile on his lips. Wrenched and yanked. He didn't even hear what Scully responded back to Emily.

Emily shifted under the layers of blankets covering her frame, whisking away the crisscrossing plastic threads that were hanging from her right arm, grumbling silently something to her husband about him needing to rest and about her having her Dad by her side.

"Daddy, tell Jeff that you'll take care of me now. He needs to go and get some sleep. He's been up for the whole night -" She sadly tapped her fingertips over her swollen stomach. "I really would want to talk to Daddy too, Jeff. Alone."

Jeffrey soughed heavily, as if heaving a carton full of elephants from his chest, pressing a kiss on Emily's hand. "I can't leave you here, Em." Seeing that this had not convinced her whatsoever, he lifted his head up to Mulder's direction. "Please tell her that I need to stay here. Please."

The last thing Mulder wanted was to be torn between two certainties.

"Jeff, go on and get a good shower and then you can come back here with a sleeping bag. And while you're at it …" Mulder reluctantly rested a hand over Scully's on his shoulder, squeezing it and then pulling it away from him. The Spunk crinkled her brows in expectation, waiting for his next announcement. "Please do drive Scully home to the Manor. She needs her rest, too."

"No," Scully protested, her voice rising, "I'm staying here with you."

"No," he repeated in a dull monotone that didn't want anymore of the argument she wanted to raise. "You go home, Scully. Please."

Too many "pleases" in one day. Too many emotions for a day. His body would never kill him when he gets older: it would be his heart that would do the finishing job.

Standing up from the chair, he walked outside with Scully behind him, leaving his daughter and her husband alone for the meantime to talk about issues that obviously needed to be discussed. According to what he had known, Emily had been asleep for the hour's length that she was rushed into the hospital.

Once outside, Mulder gripped Scully's cold hand and led her to a sharp right, where no one from Emily's hospital room could see them. Jenny was still too busy with her knitting to investigate where the lovers went and that was what he just needed.  
Scully's red lips were pouting unconsciously as he settled her on the wall, where he enclosed her nervous body in a bear hug. Seeing the net of sentiments within her eyes, Mulder brushed a kiss over her forehead, tucking another wayward strand of red hair behind her ear so that he could see her beautiful face without any obstructions.

"I'm sorry for asking you to leave. I have to … Scully, please do understand the situation." From her ear, his hand settled on her cheek, cupping the pale bundle of flesh and caressing her with his thumb.

She nodded like a one-year-old trying to comprehend why her Mother had to divorce her Father. "I do understand, Mulder." She paused, dropping her gaze from his eyes and taking the hand from her cheek into her own, intertwining their fingers together. "Could I come back here? Is that okay?"

"If you could … if you want to. If you can't, I'm going to call you every fucking hour of the fucking day."

"Good."

It was inevitably his turn to ask, "Is that okay?"

"Good enough." Her index finger twitched against his own, digging a stale hole in his aorta. Not in any condition for further arrangements, Mulder lifted Scully's hand to his lips, kissing her momentarily. Then he dropped their hands to their sides, releasing the twining and breaking eye contact.

* * *

He wished that all could be fine with the world as it was a few hours ago. All he had in his arms was a spunky redhead that took none of his stubborn bullheadedness, but at the same time gave him everything he needed, wanted. All the things he was required to juggle was passing through his hand accordingly, not slipping, not sliding, and that was fine. It was all good.  
Until a crystal ball decided to detach itself from the mesmerizing circle of his juggling, crashing down onto the floor and breaking into tiny pieces even before he could salvage it.

Mulder patiently waited by Emily's bedside immediately after Jeff and Scully left. Taking his son-in-law's place on his daughter's bedside, the Director took his daughter's white hand into his gruffer palms, cradling it with his life. There's no way he's going to leave the hospital right now. No way.

Emily's operation was about to happen in three hours. Usually, in detected stillborn fetuses, the operations happen at once; however, in his daughter's condition, the Doctors found out that she had low sugar. So they had to give her enough nourishment first before inducing labor. At least, that's what the medical jargon sounded like to Mulder. All he wanted to know was that his Emily would be fine. Save for the emotional and mental trauma of losing her baby even before she even held it in her arms.

Mulder was drifting in and out of fitful little naps, resting his heavy head on Emily's bedside, and was in the process of completing a five-minute one when the hand he was holding jerked. Almost immediately, his head was up and he was asking his daughter gently if she needed anything. Emily shook her head against the pillow, dislocating the strands of hair that had been stagnant for hours. "No, I don't need anything, Dad. What time is it?"

He glanced down at his wristwatch, "8 AM, honey. Go to sleep, you need it."

Emily purposely played deaf to his request, running her eyes over the dark hospital room curiously, trying once again to remind herself where she was and what she would have to face soon.

"Honey," Mulder tried again, and was gradually surprised when he felt Emily's hand slip from his grasp.

"It's unfair, isn't it?" she garbled out, easing that freed hand on her swollen belly, feeling out the contours of the rounded shape, occasionally pressing, feeling, the dead fetus within. "I wanted a child. I wanted a boy; I wanted him to look like Jeffrey - with dark brown hair and an athletic physique. I wanted him to have your sense of humor, your stubbornness … I wanted him to have your heart." A single tear broke free from his daughter's eye. Mulder lifted a finger and smoothened it away, swallowing to keep said heart from swelling into his throat.

"You could always try for another, Em."

"You think I have the strength to try, Dad?" She lifted her hand from her belly, as if wanting to slap the protrusion hard to show her anger at the situation towards herself, but stopped as Mulder's fingertips found her curly hair. Her voice mellowed down, "All I wanted was a family - a perfect family. Unlike ours."

Mulder's eyes bulged from its sockets, giving away his shock. That statement dug at his insides, unexpectedly branding up all the hurt he was feeling for the situation. That was something he didn't expect from Emily during that moment; actually, during any moment they have together. It just wasn't something they ever talked about. He thought they were happy together as dad and daughter. He thought it was as simple as that and she understood that there was never any love between him and her mother.  
His tone was shaky as he replied, "Emily, you know my situation with your mother. Believe me, Hon … I tried to remedy it. I tried to love her and I tried to give her everything I had. It just wasn't enough. When two people aren't meant for each other …"

"… they are just aren't meant for each other. Yeah, I remember that. I used to tell my friends that whenever they asked about you and Mom."

As of right now, their conversation was getting too candid for his liking. "I don't think we should talk about this right now. You only have two hours before surgery. I don't want you upset."

"I want to talk, Dad. Don't deny this from me." Similar eyes pierced him, smoldering his body into nothingness, sliding from Emily and down to the floor into a pool of black goo.

His face etched no emotion, not wanting to give away his feelings about the topic, not wanting to give Emily all the pain and the hurt. But inside him, it felt like a heart attack: digging, torturing, bleeding.

"Okay, talk," he slowly conveyed, removing his limbs from his daughter and crossing it in front of his chest. "About what?"

Emily slowly blinked her long lashes, curving her lips into the saddest smile he had ever seen on her. It wasn't like the smile she gave him when she lost her wallet during first grade, unlike the frown she gave him when she broke up with her first boyfriend, or the guilty expression she had when she admitted her lost of virginity. No, it was different. Very different.

"You _never_ wanted me. You and Mom just happened to fuck and I came along. Dad, I wanted this child - I wanted him so much I was persuading Jeff to install the nursery during my first trimester. It just isn't fair, Dad."

Mulder let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"When I was reasonable enough, I understood that there wasn't any love between you and Mom. You know what you looked like every time I see you two together? You looked tortured. You were literally suffocating. Right then and there, I knew. And it wasn't something to be proud of, believe me. I was so … jealous of my friends, jealous of their _perfect _family… but I kept it all in because I love you Dad. And I love Mom. Adding problems to the ones we already had wouldn't do any good. So I got used to it."

"Emily," he started, only to be cut off by her hand on his forearm.

"You think the divorce didn't kill me, Dad? It did. Just because it meant that my masquerade of perfection was going to end … for our family. And I poured my heart into my studies. Then Jeff came along and I knew that he would give me the life I never had. He isn't really THAT rich - as rich as you are - but he loves me. I love him. I wanted to give that to our child. I want to have many children, like you did. I want them to grow up knowing that their parents loved each other. I wanted normality. I … still do."

Lost for words, Mulder pondered for a moment while Emily watched the sun's rays peek through the blinds. He detached his heart from his body, once again setting it onto his arm, sputtering blood everywhere. He'd rather have it out in the open than have it damage his other organs.

"I'm sorry."

What else could a Father say?

He hastily swiped at the tears on his cheeks, surprised that he had started crying.

Emily only nodded, and when he adjusted his eyes to the brightness that was starting to cave into the room, he saw that she also was crying. Tears traced her hollow cheeks, covering his Emily in a dizzy salute of hurt.

And the heart on his sleeve began to bleed harder, realizing that it would take a long time before he'd be able to see THE Emily he raised and gotten to know. A very long time.

* * *

Bill Mulder, if presented with a contract from the devil that ensured perfection for Fox's future, would've signed it in a heartbeat. Bill's goal became Mulder's goal in life: to get married with a woman so perfect others would cringe in envy when they were together, children - many of them - running around his mansion and all of them being wealthily showered with attention and a stable job at home. He always wanted to be a writer, but it seemed that he was better at ordering and charming people around. Out of those three that his Father wanted for him, he had only accomplished one. And it was not really meeting up with his long-term goal of getting the kind of job he originally wanted.  
What did he end up with? An only child who's right now in the operating room, feigning nightmares while her dead baby was being cut out of her stomach. A directing job that was taking up most of him time. An ex-wife he hated beyond hate … and the only good part of it: a spunky twenty-one-year-old as his lover. Someone he knew yet he didn't really know.

He never realized how much Scully kept from him until after that conversation he had with Emily. It was a wake-up call: an annoying alarm clock telling him to jerk out of his "being in love" reverie.

If his daughter - his best friend - was able to keep these feelings from her own father … what more could Scully keep from him? He didn't know a thing about her past. He had no idea where she went to school, who was her first boyfriend, to whom did she give her virginity to, why did she REALLY leave Wales, why she didn't pursue medicine, why she fell in love with him and why she kept on writing those letters for her sister when she never even received a single reply. Maybe Byers was right when he told Mulder that he should be wary about Scully's past. It's haunting her and it must be the reason why she's hurting like this or keeping things from him.

His friend's words echoed like stinging bat shrieks in his head, and he forced to bury his head down into his hands. Too much worries and emotions … too little time. If he was a lot more limber, he could've stuck his head between his legs and squeezed his inner thighs hard to stop all the howling. The psychologist in him was telling him that this wasn't the best way to answer his problems, but the Mulder in him was telling him that this would do for now. For now, at least.

"Mulder?"

Scully's familiar heat patted his shoulder blade. He reflexively jerked back, almost landing his ass down on the floor in utter surprise. Once he had regained himself, he stared back at Scully with wide green eyes, mirroring her expression.

She looked a lot better than when they left the Manor, although not at all well rested than he was. She tied her frizzy hair in a tight bun, which was framing her face with a ballerina's grace. Minimal make-up, the ones that she put on when she wasn't shooting, but was enough to hide her freckles and thick eye bags, which in turn enhanced her blue eyes and plumped up her luscious red lips. Opening her mouth to say something, she unconsciously pulled on a loose thread on her violet sweater. "Hi," she whispered aloud, as if divulging the secret location of an Egyptian Mummy's tomb. "How's … Emily doing?"

Mulder clenched his jaw momentarily, running a hand through his hair - now effectively oily and coarse, as he expected it to be. "She went inside the operating room about an hour ago. They told me that it would take about three to four hours, depending on the situation."

"And you're planning to stay here for the rest of those three to four hours?"

"Yes." His answer was firm and indignant, even if his physical features were betraying him. Scully gave him a short shake of her head to disapprove.

"Mulder, you need to rest. You have been up and going for the past few days …"

"Scully," he unintentionally raised the treble of his voice, drawing sharp blue horizons from his lover's eyes. "She's my daughter, okay? I know what I'm doing."

She opened her mouth to divulge that statement, but at once closed it.

A minute of intense silence was shared between them. Mulder never swayed his ground, studying Scully's suddenly bewildered features with steel nerves he didn't expect his body to possess at its present condition. He continued to study her as her eyes roamed around the quiet corridors, as if reminding herself that she was in a hospital, a place that she perennially hated.  
Recovering her stance, Scully licked her dry lips nervously.

"I … understand that perfectly, but you … I'm just concerned about you."

Her sentences fluctuated, grains of sand through his dry palm, and just by that, he knew exactly that something was wrong. Within that short duration of time, Scully had formulated something incriminating in her mind and these thoughts had easily slipped on her façade and onto him. He once told himself that this unique ability of his, of being able to read this particular woman, should scare him shitless. It was during the start of their relationship … before they were even lovers. When everything was still new. Crystal. Innocent.

It was only then, right at that moment, that actual ability was scaring him. Shitless.

Mulder stared down at his feet, studying the anxiously interlaced knots of his shoes. "If you need to tell me something, Scully, now would be a good time."

From his feet, his gaze traveled onto the perfect ribbons of Scully's white rubber shoes. It had obviously been with her for years, yet she still insisted on wearing them everyday that she could. One small foot shuffled over the other, scratching dangerously against the loop of their flawless arcs. Of course, what should he expect? Scully was the keeper of all secrets. She kept secrets like precious sacks of gold. This was probably not different from the many times Scully had kept something from him.

Mulder breathed in, not minding if his impatience was heard out in the open. "Scully -"

"Do I remind you of Emily?"

Whoa there! Hold your fucking horses …

That wasn't certainly expected! At all!

Mulder snapped his head up, shocked beyond belief. "E-Excuse me?"

Scully's stare was steady on him, jaw clenched tight, hands interlaced behind her back, eyes sad but strong. "Do I remind you of Emily?" then she added, to soften up the prior inquiry, "You wanted to know what was wrong. There."

There? _There?_ Was that even there? That was OUT of here. WAY out of the league!

"God, no! Of course not!" Mulder jumped on his feet, waving his arms friskily around the stale air. Scully impassively inhaled the remnants of that stale air.

"What are you talking about? Are you insane?" Mulder grabbed her shoulders, but before he could, Scully successfully kept herself out of his reach.

She gritted her teeth, settling on the nearest wall, a few feet from him, contorting her emotions into a fiery ball. "No, I'm not. I was just curious."

"Curious?" he exclaimed, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice, and then lowered it when he remembered where they were. "Is this what hospitals do to you? You suddenly turn into this, this _weird_ lady! This happened the last time we were in one or have you conveniently erased that from your wonderful memory that doesn't seem to remember anything BEFORE coming to America?" When the last word was out, he bit his lip so hard it stung like an injection's prick. He certainly didn't mean that one.

"Don't push your luck, Mulder. Our relationship now does not change the way you treat my arse."

"I don't, I didn't -" He was lost for words, grappling on a thin vine for dear life, panicking when Scully threw him a disgusted look and turned around, arching her shoulders and leaving behind a trail of fumes towards the elevator.

"Scully … do-DON'T TURN YOUR BACK ON ME RIGHT NOW!"

Bravo, Mr. Mulder. Was that the best you can do?

Fortunately, Scully paused. She waited for his next words like a steady rock, still with her back to him, clenching her hands into thin fists.

Mulder swallowed hard. This couldn't be happening, right? They were not really having this fight right?

"Scully … I …. We …. Wh …. Why?"

Two steps were deducted from their distance. His feet were false compasses, hoping to reach her before everything else crumbled apart.

She moved her head a little to the right, connecting her chin with her shoulder. "You have this unending habit of pushing me away whenever you seem to need me the most, Mulder. I'm … quite sick and tired of it."

Okay. Wrong answer. If they were in Jeopardy, they would have lost the million dollar question.

"No, Scully! I'm not the one pushing you away - you are! You keep doing this … 'I'm safe in my own damn place limbo' and I'M sick and tired of it! I want to know why you asked that fucking question because I very well deserve the answer!"

"It wouldn't be fair to both of us."

Scrap the jeopardy game. If they were in the FBI, they would have rendered their superiors into unending fits. They couldn't even connect one puzzle to another in their conversation.

Mulder swallowed three more steps, rendering them only a feet apart. He could feel the anger from Scully's veins, the intensity of her Spunkness, the sheer feistiness of her whole persona resonating into a visible aura. These were dangerous waters already. Too hot for him to jump into and submit himself.  
He watched the curls of her red hair, constantly reminding himself to take it slow. This was still Scully - a woman who had done everything on her own. If someone told her to sway her hips this way, she'd tell that someone 'fuck you' and sway it how she wanted.

"What do you mean it wouldn't be fair? I don't understand you."

"I told you before … in Las Vegas, that you knowing my past will not be fair to both of us. I still hold onto that right now. It won't be fair to you. Or to me."

"How can you say that?" Mulder finally closed their gap, bringing his arms around her and pressing his lips under her earlobe. Gooseflesh met his breath, but she ignored him. She still held onto her fists; still kept her face from him.

"It isn't fair to me," he almost sobbed. "I keep telling you all these things and you don't tell me anything back. I feel as if I see all these emotions in your eyes and yet I can't define all of them. I want to know you, Scully. And yes, I am selfish: your heart or body isn't enough. I need to have all of you."

"What makes you think that _I_ know all of _you_, Mulder? We're already here and you still are pushing me away. I really want to help, I really do, but whenever I offer my help you have this habit of hating me."

"I don't hate you," he argued, tightening his hold around her. Scully gasped, and he didn't care if she was shocked by this or running out of breath. "I will NEVER hate you. And I don't do that. YOU do that."

"Let me go, Mulder." Scully tried to move her arms, but Mulder shook his head, only further strengthening his hold.

"I said let me go."

"No."

"This … conversation isn't going to end unless you let me go. We're arguing on different planes here. We're not going to find a middle point."

"I'm not letting you go."

"Yes, YOU ARE."

As if commanded by her voice, his hands tired out and he had no choice but to release her.

Scully sucked in air deeply, releasing her fists, and finally facing him. He was surprised to find tears streaming down her cheeks.

Mulder reflexively reached out to wipe them, but once again, Scully backed away. Her hands shot up, to hold him away. "We need some time apart. I'm going to call Byers and let him bring your overnight bag here."

He ran his tongue over his lips nervously. He didn't like the sudden shift in her tone. "You're not backing out on me now. You're not going to run out on this one."

Another tear appeared on the corner of her eye. "I don't know you at all, Mulder. If I did, very well, then I wouldn't have asked that question." She sadly blinked more tears away, gasping, "Maybe that's our middle ground."

"That isn't fair," he blurted out, feeling his eyes also watering. This was all his fault. If he didn't dare ask her or push her into …

"Don't berate yourself. It always isn't is."

A shiver ran through his spine, and Scully finally started wiping her cheeks with the cuffs of her blouse, turning her back from him and walking towards the elevator. He scrutinized her as she pressed the down button, as she boarded the lift, as the door closed, this time letting her leave.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER THIRTY THREE**

* * *

What do you think so far? Thanks to everyone who reviewed, as always! I'm only two chapters before the end (*does a happy dance, despite the revival rumors*)!


	37. Chapter Thirty Four: LA General Hospital

**CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR:**

* * *

Los Angeles General Hospital  
March 11, 1986  
Tuesday

"Why is it that we always find ourselves in this situation, Mr. Mulder?"

He couldn't help the smile on his chapped lips as he heard the familiar grungy voice behind him. The Director shrugged his shoulders, feeling a ton lifted from it, after tucking his nimble fingers into his pockets. "Why is my medical insurance raising the roof, Mr. Byers?"

Byers came to stand beside him, staring into the semi-transparent glass of Emily's hospital room. Inside, his daughter was delicately tucked under the hospital blankets, her stomach noticeably flatter than before (maybe hollow was the right term), and the rims under her eyes too evident for Mulder's liking. Jeffrey was striking up a sleepy vigil at her bedside, watching each drop of second, losing himself in the striking silence between him and his wife.

"You look like shit, Mulder," his friend observed, ironically without looking at him. Mulder shrugged again, brushing the padded creases of his jacket against his earlobe. That wasn't exactly the most arguable statement of the century.  
Byers placed a hand over the cold glass, as if tracing Emily's begotten outline through the separation. "And that's just preliminary. How's she doing?"

Mulder raised his eyebrows, both for an answer and an attempt to keep his eyelids from dropping. "Stable. Maybe it's not only the medical bills that will put a hole on the roof this year, I'm thinking also the therapist's bill." He removed one hand from his pocket, running it through the back of his neck. "They … they put the baby in this jar - you see, and it's already human: it has fingers, mouth … it kind of looks like Emily. And it's a boy." Mulder's voice caught in his throat, "I mean, why Emily? She wanted this baby like death. If there was a reason for this, someone better speak up now."

Byers kept quiet as Mulder vocally exorcised his demons. It had already been a long day. After Scully left, he was jaded of what he wanted to feel. He wanted to rant out - to find someone and shoot the crap out of him. He wanted to call Scully and tell him that he's sorry, even though he understood that it wasn't his fault … as much as wasn't it hers. He wanted to tear the whole hospital apart, ask why the hell this happened to his daughter and not to his wife back then. Then again, that wasn't a question he was prepared to hear the answer of.  
Instead, he was reduced to a silent ball of recoiling and simmering Mulder. He sat down at the hard wooden waiting benches, staring off into the cracks of the wall, fighting the urge to doze it all of. He needed to know Emily's condition as soon as she's done through the operation. That would be the only time he's going to surrender to exhaustion.

Soon after Emily was out of harm, Mulder was still on his feet. No one could sleep after seeing his supposed grandson in a bottle of antiseptic. How could anyone do so?

After a few minutes of sharing stuffy silence, Byers finally spoke, his voice scratchy and noticeably strained. "I bought your things from the Manor -"

"Thank you. I really appreciate it."

"… And I discovered more than I wanted to know."

Uh- oh.

Thank God Mulder's mind was too tired to actually process the intensity of this claim.

Mulder kept his best poker face on as he raised an eyebrow toward his friend's direction, afraid to take a peek - his eyes could easily give him away. He had to act innocent, had to show Byers that he had nothing to be guilty of. Nothing at all.

"Mulder, stop it. Stop pretending. It's fine, I know all about it … well, I was forced to know about it."

He wished Byers sounded as fine as he wished to be.

Mulder cleared his throat, tonsils scorching hot against the back of his tongue, forcing him to face his friend. For the first time that day, they looked at each other straight in the eye. Byers appeared as shocked as he was. Or even more.

The Director scratched at an itchy spot over the day-old stubble he's growing, feeling out the sharp strands of hair, then twice noticing how much he felt naked. "How? Did she tell you?" he conveyed, his voice slightly shaking.

"No, not really. I came over at your house," Byers broke off their eye contact, his hands coming up to straighten the dark green tie he had on, "… when I got there, Spunk was crying. She was huddled up on the couch, clutching the pillows. I asked her what was wrong, but she didn't say anything. She just directed me to the Master's bedroom …"

Mulder waved a hand in front of the man, dismissing this with a forgiving sneer. "You can't tell our relationship from seeing Scully cry, Byers. You don't know her like you know me." Their eyes met and his friend was able to give out a nervous laugh.

"Fine. So I didn't know it that way."

"How?"

"I … I came upstairs to collect your bag … but it seems that Spunk forgot some details to clean off of your bedroom floor. Specifically … your _entwined_ underwear."

Mulder grinned sadly, not hiding how this much affected him. Scully usually was keen on cleaning, she would clean the whole of America if only the State allowed her to … but hearing how she missed those important details only told him how much her heart was broken by their argument. He's a fucking asshole for hurting her that way. Guilt's knife stabbed him in the heart and he could almost see his own blood spilling onto the white porcelain tiles of the floor. "She had no choice to admit it," Mulder whispered, one-third to himself, to his best friend, and to his guilt. Then on a louder note, "How is she, Byers? How is she holding? I mean … we had an …"

"Argument. She did a measurable amount of explaining, really. She told me all about it and … she's not all okay." Byers shuffled his leather shoes on the floor, creating stippling noises that clawed into Mulder's ear. He ignored it purposely, concentrating on what his friend had to say. "She was a mess. I've never seen her that way … I'm not sure if you had. How long have you been together, Mulder?"

"From this moment? A month tops."

"You're not very accessible about this, are you?"

In response, Mulder shook his head earnestly. No need to fucking lie about this. The subject about his relationship with Scully was as touchy as this death of his grandson was to Emily. It's that touchy AND ironically special.

Byers resigned, putting a hand on Mulder's left shoulder. "I understand … the consequences of what you entered. I understand the risks, the things you have to surpass. But I also understand how much you love each other and that's enough to justify the risks and consequences."

Mulder forced another smile on his dry lips.

"That's why aside from your overnight bag, I also brought another companion."

Damn it.

He didn't like the way Byers' eyes twinkled his seriousness, his determination. He didn't like his tone of voice when he said "companion," and most of all … he didn't like what he's about to walk into. No, he didn't like it at all. If they were in a movie that moment, the background music would've played something from Star Wars - the theme song whenever Darth Vader came on cam.

From the smile, he frowned and his eyes bulged from its sockets. "God fuck it, Byers … you didn't …"

"I had to. She really seemed lost. And it didn't take me much to bring her out of the house and here. Spunk did relent a little, but I directed her to the garden outside. She's shaky, but fine. And waiting for you. With your overnight bag."

He should feel like Han Solo, but he felt more like R2D2.

Clenching his teeth to keep himself from lashing out on Byers (his friend was only was doing what he thought was best), Mulder strode from him, each scrape of his rubber shoes against the tiles bouncing up to his ear. Byers didn't say anything more. Mulder also didn't say anything more.

What would R2D2 say in times like that, anyway?

* * *

It actually was a lovely day, lovelier than it should be. He expected darkening skies, turgid and sticky humid weather, incoming rain, even thunderstorms. But what greeted him out in the hospital's garden was a very energetic sun, fresh greenery enjoying the welcoming stirrings of summer, and a very lonely Scully propped up on a nearby bench.

She wore the same clothes - the violet sweater (despite the heat) and black ¾ leggings. Her hair was scrunched up into a side ponytail, the soft auburn curls splaying gently on her left shoulder. As he walked towards her, shielding his very photosynthetic eyes from the sun with his hand, he took note of how her hair was longer - compared to the first time he met her. She was all Spunk and angst those days … with that shoulder-length hair and dancing that could kill anyone watching her.  
Right then and there, when he drew closer, Scully looked tired. She seemed defeated - her eyes rimmed with large eye bags, shoulders sagging … and visibly, she had been in a crying match just a few minutes ago. Another round of guilt tore through Mulder, accompanied with an extreme jolt of strong affection.

What the hell was he thinking, saying those things to her? He's lucky enough to have her in his arms, to have her give her all to him. She's his, as much as he was hers. That should be their norm.

His hand over his eyes faltered, and once the sun hit his eyes, he groaned his pain. He was exhausted too. Exhausted, stuffy, dirty, and he was about ready to force his head on Scully's lap and sleep. Sleep until Eternity himself died. Even his steps echoed triple-time in his ears. And maybe in her ears, too … because when he was about five feet away from Spunk, she inexplicably stood up, rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater and faced him formidably.  
He expected something like "Fuck you Mulder! Fuck you for ruining my fucking life!" from Scully, because she was Queen Spunk, All hail the Spunk Royalty. But what he got was otherwise. Her brows scrunched up in concern, hands leaving her hips, tooth coming over to rest on her lower lip. She cleared her throat, and to Mulder's beaten-down senses, it sounded like glass scratching against each other.

"Oh my Lord, Mulder … you look like absolute knackered shit."

He might have flies all over him if that's the case.

Officially, in the wee hours since they got to the hospital, he had been a bad Father, a stupid lover, an even more stupid friend, a wordless robot, and a broken grandfather. He had enough already. Oh, and he also was shit. Deep, smelly, piece of shit.

Mulder sighed his relief as he entered the tree's shade Scully was under, closing his eyes for a second before opening them, smiling weakly at his lover's blurred reflection in front of him. She was abstract: red, white, blue, pink, and dots of freckles.  
Something about her comment made the mood lighten between them. They both felt it and no doubt about it, it could be what they needed to set things straight.

"There's something about you that always reminds me of my health, Scully." He blindly puckered his lips and kissed whatever he could reach. Judging from the small creases of worry under his lips, the indulgent approval from her throat, and the hand on his bicep … he was able to reach her forehead. Not a bad aim for reconciliation.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Scully whispered; voice soft, the hand on his forearm tightening and pulling him towards the bench. He began to sit down when Scully ushered him a few inches away. Apparently, he was about to sit down on his overnight bag. According to her, he wouldn't want to sit down on his shaving razor.

He let her tend to him. Her warm fingers positioned his head so that he could recline it a bit on the bench, his hands relaxed over his lap, his legs spread outright before him.

This was what they both needed. Time to get back to their respective roles in the relationship … even before they were intimate. He was the kid again, she the adult. The past month had been too crazy for their liking, too hectic for their expectations. Add this new kind of togetherness and it's a bowl of sour fruit salad. There had to be a way of making it sweet. And he'd go to the ends of the earth to find the right recipe.

Scully found her place beside him, gently resting her head on his right shoulder - not completely heaving her weight on him, but just enough to test the waters between them. Mulder grinned at the instant amount of security that blanketed his freelancing emotions. Scully's effects on him were incredible. He'd be crazy if he let this woman go.

"You know what," she started with her heady British accent, the one he had gotten to love. "When Byers pulled me out of that couch and told me to shape up and fix this mess once and for all … I was determined to give you two choices."

Mulder opened his eyes in panic, finding the sweet greenery of the old apple tree looming over them. Scully sensed his fear and snaked an arm around his neck, bracing him to her for assurance. He relaxed into her touch a little bit. Just a _little_ bit.

"I wanted to tell you that it's either you take me as I am or I leave. It's either you take me as a woman without a past … or we go our separate ways," she paused, taking a deep breath. His muscles, under Scully's arm, tensed.

Jesus H. Christ … she really wanted him to make that choice? Oh God. That was like asking him whether he wanted to remarry Diana and keep Emily or to lose Diana and lose Emily. You wouldn't know which one was right or wrong. Especially when your choice involved someone you needed like you needed your next breath. He kept quiet, though, knowing that Spunk wanted his silence for her courage to push through.

"Then I thought about why I don't tell you much about my past. Why it isn't fair … and I discovered that I don't even know the answer to that. Why it isn't fair for me to tell you about my past? I don't know. God, I made this whole game up and I have no bloody idea on how to resolve it."

This time, Mulder spoke, slowly and softly. "It's not your fault, Scully … nor is it my business. If you want to keep things from me … then that's your choice. I shouldn't care."

"But you do. And that matters a lot to me. No one ever cared like you do." She inched closer, her weight becoming more evident on his side. This made Mulder crave more of her, but he restrained herself. There were more matters that needed attending. "I can't give you that choice, because if I was given that choice myself, I wouldn't be able to answer. I'd kill myself first before choosing between you and a past that virtually isn't that important. I can't make you do that.  
"It's not you Mulder … it's me. Just because I can't tell you some things about my past it doesn't mean I love you less - it doesn't. I just feel as if I have to overcome some of my insecurities, before … I could, could… divulge, see?" She choked on her words, prompting Mulder to lift his head up and caress Scully's cheek. He blinked a few times for his vision to clear, to remove the stiff blueness from his sight, to be able to see his woman freely.

She was crying again. Tears were springing from her already beaten up eyes like a waterfall.

Mulder blinked again, this time for a different reason. His eyes felt watery, too. He loved this woman too damn much. He never cried for a woman before. Save for Emily … no one ever rendered him like this.

He wiped a large dollop of tear from her puffy cheek with the pad of his thumb. "I'm not going to force you anymore, Scully. It's your choice and it should be. I'm going to wait for you until you are able to tell me what has been bothering you all these time. I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

She snickered compliantly, as if telling him that what was happening between them was absurd. Here they were in front of the world and it's spinning, and rather than making the Earth dizzy - it was making THEM dizzy. Pressing his palm on her lips, she chastely kissed it, "You could wait that long, Superman?"

The next apocalypse could come and he would still be right beside her, waiting for her to tell him who her first boyfriend was. "I'm pretty sure 'bout that," Mulder assured her, letting one tear spring free from his eyelids. "I'm sorry for doing this to you, Scully. I really am … I was an asshole for being so self-centered. This is still new to me."

"You still are learning our relationship ..."

"I am … like you are. I'm forty fucking years old and I'm still learning this. I had been ridden of a significant other for so long I have forgotten that when you have someone, you solve problems together … not individually. I'm so sorry," he repeated, in case she didn't hear from her extreme concentration of halting the tears from gushing out of her system. He had a lot in his tired mind, and he didn't want to quit, not when everything seemed clearer than ever. "I believe that us in extremes … not having a middle ground … makes our relationship work. I'm-I'm going to make this work even if I have to bleed myself dry, okay? Trust me on this."

Scully nodded once, pressing a kiss on his bottom lip. "You don't have to ask twice."

That was all the encouragement he was waiting for. His hand on her cheek cupped the back of her neck, drawing her to him. Their lips got reacquainted delicately, starting with a ginger press, until his tongue plied her mouth open and he plunged deep within her cavern. And there was her flavor again … that distinct taste of her and of toothpaste, and the stickiness of crying so hard. It was Scully and it was him. He needed this. They both needed this. It was a kiss that sealed an unspoken promise. When they drew apart, they beamed that promise at each other.

Scully ruffled his hair, and for the first time ever, he didn't care whether it was coarse or oily or sticky. She let the strands run through her ridges of her fingers, watching them glow under the sunlight. "I asked you that question … about Emily, because I had this fear that I was a replacement. Something to divert your attention from losing your daughter."

He shook his head at once, dismissing this. That was ridiculous.

An auburn eyebrow darted at him, making him stop his head shaking, making him rethink.

Scully could shake reason out of him anytime, anywhere. With that truth dawning to him, he rethought his initial answer.

"Maybe at first, I did need you in some way. I needed you because I needed someone beside me, someone to stop me from feeling… lonely. But over the time, you dug your own little hole within me and you created your own space. Emily has her own, and you also have yours. Both equal and both are what I hold precious right now. You are different from Emily, Scully. My love for both of you is in the same degree, yet in different planes."

She grinned, looking at him straight in the eye, finally allowing him to read her. And he liked what he read within the misty pearls of opaque blue.

"It's from hiking up the woods in Wales."

"Huh?" he responded dumbly, tilting his head with the shift of their conversation.

"The scar here," she stressed out, taking once again his hand in hers and pressing it against her stomach. Then he remembered. The scar he was so adamant about that morning, the one he had played with until Scully pushed his hand away. "I was with my brothers Bill and Charles. Charles and I were always at odds and we were fighting about something I don't remember the way back home. We began pushing each other and he got carried away. He told me that he was going to kill me with his bolo and I began to run from him. I cowered towards Bill, but Charles slipped on a stone and the bolo he was holding struck a jagged line across my stomach. A few more inches down, deeper and I'd have died. At the sweet age of nine."

Mulder pictured the scar in his head. It was already fading, but the length and girth of it, let alone the way that it still was visible after sixteen years, bothered him. It must've been a bad one. "How long did you have to stay in the hospital?"

"If I am correct, I endured twenty stitches and two months out of school." She shrugged, her corner-of-the-mouth dimples showing. "It wasn't at all that bad: I got to watch a lot of _Bewitched_." They both shared a laugh, and her expression turned serious. "I do want to try, Mulder. I really do. I hope this isn't a bad start."

Amidst this, he noticed the crowd of pleasant albeit dazed old people moving out from the nearby "home-for-the-aged" program (an affiliate of the hospital) in thick packs. They were chattering in soft whispers dulled by time, crisscrossing around the garden, tilting their heads up at the sky. Children played around the fountain, tossing stray quarters into the pristine blue water. A little boy skidded the cemented birds of the fountain's edges and pulled his slightly older sister's brunette hair.

Mulder took hold of Scully's hand and intertwined their fingers together, settling it over her knee.

"Emily's baby was a boy."

The wind blew through them, caressing their skins fervently. Scully tucked a loose strand of curly hair behind her ear. "_Is_ a boy. He'll always live in your hearts."

Mulder gazed down at the fury of auburn hair, contrasting perfectly with the paleness of her skin and the sudden pinkness of lips. She was his future. He should immerse himself within that abrasive contrast and lose himself in this fucking world. Then, he cleared his throat just for effect, before asking back," Was that a bad start?"

Understanding flooded her eyes, and that lilies and carnations grin that always tore and healed a part inside of him. "No … it was good, Mulder. It was perfect," she replied densely, moisture once again flooding her eyes. This time, she didn't stop it from coming, and this time, he didn't stop himself from kissing her tears away.

It couldn't get any better than that.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR**


	38. Chapter Thirty Five

**CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE:**

March 22, 1986

Dear Melissa,

Arranging Mother's song, _Danced Yesterday_, was like meeting her for the first time as an adult. There were many moments during the singing sessions that I felt that she was with me inside the booth: taking my hand with her own and as if she was making my decisions for me. I believe that during that short duration of time I spent reviving Mother's memory with music, I was able to reenter her head and I _became_ her for a fleeting second.

I have been worried about my apparent obsession with our Mother for a long time now. You know this, Missy. I was seven years old, strumming the guitar, singing this song with my levelheaded off-key notes and you told me to snap out of it. No one wanted to be reminded of our Mother there in Wales. Maybe that's the reason why I needed to escape; maybe that's the real reason why I needed to leave.

Mulder told me that it was normal; he also lost his Father for an unreasonable cause … and I know that, unconsciously, he feels responsible for this lost. He does not understand this for he hasn't yet grasped his own guilt. But whenever he talks about his Father, his sister, and their issues as a family, I could see it in his eyes. He wants to avenge his Father's death, yet he can't, because he still believes in the concept of family. He still loves his sister. So instead, he takes it out on himself.

I feel responsible for Mother's lost too, Missy. Even if I was only two-years-old when she died, I knew that I had a part in it. If I wasn't born, then maybe Mother could still be with you today. Maybe this family could be perfect and maybe, just maybe, it could work.

It never worked, you see.

On April, we'll have the funeral for Emily's son. Emily is Mulder's only daughter. Her baby was a stillborn. At first, while recovering in the hospital, Emily didn't want anything to do with her son, let alone look at him. She constantly cried and in some instances, was gazing out the windows for hours on end. I couldn't blame her though: who would want to look at your supposed son inside a glass jar, as a specimen? The staff had asked if Emily and Jeff could donate the body of their son to their medical school.

It was only then that Emily responded, telling them off by shouting at them, and finally giving in to the motherly urge to see her dead son. Once the dead fetus was wheeled into her room, she started crying. And I started to cry myself, too. You just can't get everything you want, can you, Melissa?

They named the boy Don March Spenders. What a beautiful name. Sometimes, you just never know what God was thinking when He designed our life. I have asked myself that question so many times before. And for the first time since moving to Los Angeles, I found myself asking that again as I gazed at Emily and Jeffrey, shedding silent tears while watching the nurse wheel the baby away.

_Duw rhaid cael well ei rheswm rhy pan ef mynd ag Mother gan ni. _

Signed,  
Dana

* * *

**Guilty A/N: **Excuses, excuses (to quote Gillian Anderson on Twitter), I know - RL caught me by the chokehold and didn't let go for a couple of months. I moved to a new "place" nearer my university and I guess tinkering around my new room got the best of me. Anyway, the next chapter is coming up within the next few hours. I hope to hear from you all soon - meaning, I hope I still have readers here! (Oh, and I do have plans of posting Spunk simultaneously on AO3. What do you think about that?)


	39. Chapter Thirty Six: St Peter's Memorial

**CHAPTER THIRTY SIX:**

St. Peter's Memorial Garden  
Los Angeles  
April 1, 1986  
Tuesday

The sky was cloudy - not enough to bring precipitation to the city, but maybe just enough to bring respect and condolences to the string of families underneath it on the Memorial Garden's lush greenery.

That was the first thing Mulder noticed as soon as he got off the _Skyhawk_ he bought for Scully on her birthday. It was the only black vehicle in his possession (him being fond of acid blue) and he decided that his slap-happy colored cars were not good for surprising the long line of friends that were coming to his grandson's funeral.  
_His_ grandson. It took him almost a month to finally accept that term. Even if Scully constantly tried to convince him that this baby was once alive, once was a part of Emily, and should always be a part of them all … his mind argued with his heart. He was secretly repulsed at the notion of this - of having a grandson that he didn't even get to teach baseball to. He was angry too, having to see his baby Emily go through all of this unnecessary pain.

And as usual, the press had a field day with this story right from the start. They tried to keep everything under their nosy noses during Emily's recovery, but unfortunately, on the morning of March 18, Frohike surprised him with a copy of the prominent tabloid paper _National Enquirer._ On the front page was a picture of him and Emily exiting the hospital. And included were the details of the upcoming funeral.

The time it took for Emily and Jeff to decide a funeral was a whole week. The time it took for the tabloids to pounce on it was three days. Yes, this was Hollywood at it's finest.

He straightened the _Rayban _shades atop his nose, shifting his crossed arms over his abdomen. Beside him, garbed in a black once-piece dress that framed her trimmed curves perfectly, was Scully. Her red hair was dried naturally, the crimping machine ignored for the time being, and this spread all throughout her shoulders and down her back. This was a suggestion from him, for he really loved her straight red hair and it was his little reward for being so patient about her compassionate naggings.

Mulder didn't find himself worrying about this apparent tragedy much, even if he brought the pain with him inside his heart. He had the movie to work for and Scully to take care of, anyway. The movie's cutting and editing was already three-fourths finished; the movie's soundtrack was almost done. Next month, all they would have to do was screen the movie with different audiences, and then submit it to the Censors. When they get the appropriate ratings, they could release _Danced Yesterday_ in America. Next, the world.

He had his fair share of migraines and exhaustion so crisp it made him sleep for a whole day without even waking up. It would all be worth it though: throughout their frantic publicity stunts for the two lead actors, Pendrell's guest appearance on _Knots Landing_ was heavily watched by the audiences. After Scully's successful stint of _Cheers_, they decided on getting them around TV so that the people could be familiar with them. Skinner had suggested _Moonlighting_, wherein Scully and Pendrell could both appear. Scully couldn't be happier with the idea. Pendrell was a little hesitant, though, because after _Danced Yesterday_, he at once accepted another starring role.

A few meters away from Mulder, standing in front of the small coffin built especially for Don March Spenders, were Emily and Jeffrey. Flowers of all kinds from everyone that cared and thought their care was needed decorated the borders of their ceremonial ground. Their acquaintances, his Mother, Jeffrey's parents, and some people that have slipped his knowledge stood with them - showering their family with enough grief and sympathy to last them all for ages.

It's not that he was ungrateful for it; he was just ticked that when Emily was in the hospital, only their closest friends seemed to really care. When the _National Enquirer_ revealed to the world what was going on, everyone seemed concerned. And sympathetic. Even empathetic.

It made his insides curl into unfathomable proportions.

Emily's light brown hair twisted in the wind's grasp, her fingertips shaking slightly as she held up a piece of paper right in front of her nose, sniffling when the Pastor asked her to continue with the last words for her son.

"Umm…" Mulder's daughter started, clearing the unshed tears clogging her throat. "I found this … poem in my Grandmother's book a few years ago. And Grandma saw how fascinated I was with the book so she gave it to me. In it, there's a poem that was written by Avery Alexander for his son, John. They joined the 18th century war among the States and after nine months … Avery's son died. He wrote this poem to his wife as a source comfort." Emily stared up at Mulder's shaded eyes for some hidden hope of an inspiration. In response, Mulder removed his eyewear and smiled weakly at his daughter:

_"Oh Mother, know your little son is rich; he is not poor;  
__For him there is a home in heaven, for him a treasure Sure._

"_His Father is the King of Kings and now to Him he's gone;  
__Now he shall wear a beauteous robe, white as the spotless snow._

"_And never will that garment fade; it never old can be;  
__It is the gift of Him we love, of Him who died for us._

"_How happy He will make him there, no words of mine can tell;  
__There he shall have no want, no sin, but with angels dwell._

"_So do not grieve … and say poor child, when in the grave he's laid;  
__Think how rich with gold he is, though great the price he paid._

"_And Mother seek to meet him there and also your sisters dear;  
__So rich and happy you will be, when you're no longer here._

"_And in that city, bright, above at last a gathered band;  
__We'll ever bless our Savior's name, by whom redeemed we stand."_

As the last word was spoken, Mulder watched with restrained emotions his daughter collapsed into her husband's arms, hugging Jeffrey tightly and hiding her face from the mourners. They disappeared into the background, behind Jeffrey's parents where they could cry in private.

When Emily was born, he promised that he would never let anything or anyone hurt her.

Mulder wiped an unwelcome tear from his lashes, quickly gentling the shades over his eyes to hide his pain.

He shouldn't have had made that promise if he didn't want HIMSELF hurt. Who was he kidding? Nothing he could do in this fucking world could save his daughter from immense anguish. If he were a magician that could stop time when he could foresee Emily getting hurt … he would be one, in an instant  
But like before, he wasn't able to stop the pain in his daughter's heart when he divorced her Mother. Today was another testament to his mortality; another testament that try as he could … his _Supermanliness_ could never give his loved ones everything that he wanted them to have.

Sometimes he tried too hard. Sometimes, he wished he could quit whenever he felt the tendency of hurting himself, or others.

"Mulder?"

He twisted his head to the sound of Scully's voice and dipped his mouth lightly beside her ear. "Y… Yeah?" he stammered, immediately clearing his throat afterwards.

She gazed up at him with her watery clear blue eyes, almost becoming transparent with so much emotion floating in them. "I haven't really told you yet … but I am very sorry about your grandson." A tear dropped, and Mulder plucked the battered tissue from Scully's hand to wipe at it. Overhead their voices, the Pastor read something from the Bible, giving the child the final blessing. As the gospel drowned on, his insides softened at the sight of his lover crying for his own daughter and grandson. It was a testament of sorts, an unmade and unmentioned testament that their emotions were one. They agreed back in the hospital that they were going to face everything together now; they were going to try.

This was a very lengthy step for both of them.

"Hey, it's okay. It's all fine." After wiping her tear, he hooked an arm around her waist, making himself forget that they were in a public place and this display of affection was deemed abnormal. For once in their whole relationship together, he didn't really care. He was just damn glad that she was there to shed his unshed tears for him. He was just damn glad that someone else was crying and he could be the one wiping the tears for her. That was their team: he was the great comforter, the great protector (no matter how much Scully disputed this), and she the ailing adult who needed the child in him. A contrast and perfectly so.

Scully dropped her head heavily on his shoulder, drawing in a deep breath. "I … I can't help wondering if this is what happened to Melissa."

The sudden outburst of her sister's name momentarily startled Mulder. He gazed at the top of her auburn head peculiarly before going on. "What do you mean, Scully?" Mulder inquired softly, making sure that they were the only one sharing the conversation.

"That," she meekly nudged her nose towards the direction of the small coffin. "This," she continued, this time pointing at Emily and Jeffrey who were now taking the front row while their son's coffin was being lowered onto the small grave. "Maybe … it's the reason why she never writes back. I was thinking that it was because she hated me for leaving … but right now … I'm …"

"Afraid?" he supplied, rubbing his palm over her protruding hip bone.

"Yes. I don't know where this fear comes from … staring at Emily and her …" Scully stopped, obviously gauging what she had just confessed.

Mulder threw all remaining caution in the nosy breeze that was invading their ceremony and kissed Scully's strawberry-scented head. "I understand. You could drop your relatives a call in Wales, if you want to … you know, you should do that. They must miss you."

The coffin was lowered onto the ground, hitting the dry ground with a loud thud. Emily stepped away from the crowd, this time appearing calmer than a while ago. She bent and picked a piece of white rose from the hoards that were lying around the gravesite and wrapped the paper with the poem around the thorns. With a somber smile, she dropped the rose into the grave.

"Yeah," Scully responded, watching intently as the graveyard workers began to bury the coffin. "They must."

There was something cynical about her tone, about the abrupt way she ended her answer, but Mulder was forced to forget this when his eyes caught a loitering figure near a Fig tree a few meters behind the burial ground.

Apparently, Scully caught it too. She positioned a hand over Mulder's on her waist, and tightened her grip on his fingers. Then she added with a nervous whisper, "Don't go to her, Mulder. Stay here. Stay with me."

These words were all but an auditory blur for Mulder as he removed his hold on Scully and began to mutely walk towards the lone figure that was underneath the falling leaves of the tree. He took the most discreet way out of the crowd, making sure that no one followed him.

Once he reached the tree, Samantha appeared before him. She wore the same leather black jacket from the last time they saw each other, her curly brown hair dropping flatly on her shoulders, her pale face and sunken eyes more disturbing than the last time he noticed them. Mulder couldn't help the tinge of pity that struck him upon seeing his sister's condition, but he aptly pushed it away, reminding himself that this was Samantha - the woman who got his own Father killed.

"Hey Fox," she greeted chirpily, but was cut off by a throaty cough. Mulder disgustedly frowned, waiting patiently as Samantha coughed her lungs out.

When she finished, Mulder raised his eyebrows, digging his hands into his jeans' side pockets. "What are you doing here, Sam?" he asked, not caring if the venom dipped low on his tone. "Who called you?"

"Who cares who called me? How's Emily?" His sister began to walk towards the mourning crowd when Mulder took her by the arm, flinging her back onto the tree's shade.

"Sam, don't go there. I don't want you here," he sternly said, wrapping his fingers around his sister's thin elbow. "Mom called you, didn't she? I told her not to call … we're nearing the new Millennium and the women are getting more and more headstrong by the minute." He rolled his eyes, biting the insides of his cheek. Samantha raised an eyebrow at his comment.

"My brother, the misogynist. Who could've known this?"

"I'm not a misogynist. I happen to be born into a world dominated by fierce women. And crazy, stupid ones too."

"Thanks," Sam replied, not the least bit stung by his remark. "I'll remember that. Too bad I wasn't born into a world of a great, caring family. And brother."

"You _were,_ Sam." Mulder clenched his fingers into tight fists inside his pockets. She actually _dared_ to say that? In front of him? Oh dear sweet Jesus.

This time, anger was already fuming out of his ears, so clear that he was sure Samantha could see the fine lines of smoke. "You were born into this great, caring family, Sam. It was you who tore this great, caring family apart."

Her sunken brown eyes bulged at him. "How dare _you_ say that to me!"

How dare him? How _DARE_ her!

Mulder shook his head firmly, finally letting his sister's arm go, allowing some steam to leave. It amazed him how a simple conversation could always turn into the most idiosyncratic fights for both of them. They sure had amazing chemistry.

"Damn it, Sam, I don't want to fight you, okay? All I'm asking you to do is to leave this place and all will be well." All will be well if Samantha wasn't born into the world at all. She wasn't even at their Father's funeral and she had the guts to show her face then and there.

"I'm not leaving, Fox. I'm staying. I WAS invited and I'm HERE to fulfill _that _INVITATION!" With her last word, some people from the gravesite snapped their necks towards their direction, including his Mother and Scully. From the distance, he could see the alarm kick into his Mother's eyes, and her running to where they were.

Seeing this, Mulder reflexively backed away from his sister, adjusting his black collar.

Upon reaching them, his Mother didn't waste any time in taking Samantha's side. "Fox, what do you think were you doing?" she garbled, coming to stand beside the thin brunette woman, not the least bit apprehensive about her disobedience.

Mulder ogled them for a second, noticing how Samantha's appearances had mimicked his Mother's over the years she had been living on her own. Their lip shapes were similar, as were their strong hazel eyes. And yeah, attitude.

Mulder resigned to the fact that his was one fight he had to quit. There were no battling two strong-headed women in on this. "Sorry, it seems to be MY mistake." And true to his nature, added, "It _seems _to be my mistake in wanting to protect my family from that woman!" He pointed an accusing finger at Samantha, and his Mother's eyes shot blood red at this.

"FOX! That was very rude of you!" she scolded, in her best 'I'm-your-mother-and-if-you-don't-say-sorry-I'm-going-to-force-Sunday-school-on-your-Saturday-schedule' tone. It was the same tone she used on him when he learned the meaning of the word "shit" in 3rd grade.

Mulder rolled his eyes, exasperated. Yup, it was third grade all fucking over again.

Mrs. Mulder gritted her teeth together, taking a step towards Samantha, but not really allowing herself to touch her own daughter. "Take that back, Fox. This is still your sister." Samantha's eyes pricked at the last sentence, and obvious hurt flashed through her face in shades of embarrassing red.

He shrugged nonchalantly, readying himself to dispute this when the African-American Gospel singer began to hum a few bars of his song on the burial ground. Mulder snapped his head towards the crowd and saw them leaving the site, throwing albeit concerned glances at their impromptu family affair. Not far off from where the flowers were sheltered was Scully, reverently praying over his grandson's grave with Emily. Jeffrey was talking with the Three Musketeers, not far off from where Walter and the Doggetts were.

Mulder slackened his jaw, opening his mouth. "Sorry Mom, that's not what a not-great and not-caring brother from a not-great and not-caring family does." He lifted his hands up to stop them from sprouting profanities at him and began to carelessly stride towards where Scully and Emily was. The last thing he caught from his Mother and sister after his answer was one appalled face and one on-the-breakdown face.

Yup, it sure was third grade all over again. As if he ever grew up.

Coming up behind Emily, he placed both his hands over his daughter's shoulders. "Hey Honey … how are you doing now, huh?" he whispered into her ear, using the same tone he used on her whenever she told him that she had a boo-boo or that she broke up with her boyfriend. Emily loved that tone of his voice, and to make sure that she didn't tire of it, he only used it occasionally … during the times that she needed to feel better.

He heard her smile, "I'm holding up pretty well, Daddy." Emily turned around and engulfed him in an embrace, burying her face into his chest - disputing her answer into tears. Mulder reacted quickly, wrapping his arms around her.

"You know, Em, you could always try again. I would really love another grandson … or granddaughter," he offered, still using the same tone. Emily didn't retort at first, then he got a single nod … before a single shake of her head.

"What do you mean?" He drew her head up from his lapel and stared at her eye-to-eye. He was relieved that she wasn't crying anymore … but he wasn't necessarily sure if that was a good idea at all.

Emily licked her fading lipstick unsurely, "I don't think I have the energy or the … strength … to try, Dad." She closed her eyes, resting her chin on his stomach. "It still is too painful for me and Jeff. This is a hard one on us."

Was it that painful?

The psychologist in him was telling him that of course it _fucking _was painful, the Father in him was telling him that it was so damn painful that they shouldn't ever try again, while the Grandfather in him was saying otherwise … there should be a clan of little kids running around the Manor whenever they could. His very own grandchildren. Well, sure he had a twenty-one-year-old girlfriend - well, lover - but he'd proudly wear the badge of a Grandfather anytime. The experience they'd gone through changed his view on Emily's pregnancy. He didn't realize how much he wanted that child until it was too late.

He didn't know who to be at that exact moment.

Emily wasn't waiting for his answer, though. She tilted her head towards the direction from where he came from and with a hint of tweak in her voice, asked: "Is that Aunt Samantha? Is that really her, Daddy?"

Mulder had no choice but to say yes. Emily kissed him on his cheek and left him on the graveyard, eager to be with her Aunt. Once they met, she collapsed into Sam's arms and sobbed all over again.

The Director swallowed hard. As much as he tried to stop and hate it, Samantha had this special connection with his daughter. A connection he never liked even if it had somewhat dissipated over the years that his sister and daughter had spent apart.

With his eyes on his sister and daughter, he approached Scully and placed a steady arm around her shoulders. Gazing down at her, he murmured, "I don't know why she has to show herself here today. She didn't even attend Dad's funeral and here she is … Sweet Jesus, she has the nerve."

Scully's eyes were steadfast on the brown dirt of the small grave, her arms clasped around her waist. "She does seem to love Emily," she commented, voice soft. Mulder snorted impatiently.

"If she loves Emily, then she should've known better than showing herself out in here. I don't understand why she has to do this now … when she had the time of our lives back then. I'm forty years old and Sam's thirty-six. We're old …" Mulder stopped when he noticed how his sentences were all going in complete circles. "I'm rambling, sorry for this shit."

"Why are you sorry?" Scully finally looked up at him, her blue eyes lightening to an impossibly transparent hue underneath the afternoon sunlight. Mulder shook his head, tenderly brushing away a loose strand of hair from her forehead.

"It's … it seems irrational doesn't it?" He can't help stressing on the word irrational. It should define what they were experiencing for the past two months. Irrational, crazy, and very good. "Samantha and I are adults and are fighting like cats and dogs. It's fire and a truckload of gasoline every time we meet. We explode."

"I could tell you that it's normal … but hell, it's not." Scully smiled sadly, understanding his situation with his sister. She should have had some experience with this - she previously mentioned her bout with Melissa and her brother Charles. Their fights were also atrocious, sometimes as irrational as his with Samantha … but he believed that the strong-headed blood ran deep within the Scully's. It should, since something should account for the heat of Scully's moods. Orientation alone couldn't.

"Cats and dogs … we're more like a pair of kindergarten pupils -"

"Mulder, excuse me." Walter's voice resounded a few meters behind their positions. Mulder snapped his head towards his friend, demanding with his eyebrow what he needed. His Producer gestured for him to come closer.

"What's the deal?" Mulder at once impatiently demanded when Scully was out of ear shot. Walter tilted his head to his right, brushing his cheek against the polyester cotton of his black suit.

"The Big Bosses have branded me as the bearer of great news … well, I'm not entirely sure if you see this as GREAT news. I know how much this movie means to you."

"Walter, cut the crap," Mulder hissed, unintentionally breaking Skinner off. It hadn't been the most fantabulous day of his life, and the last thing he needed for the moment was his E.P. telling him riddles. He needed truth, out in the open and more raw than his grandson's body on inside that damn medicinal jar. "I'm sorry, but you should see that I have so many other things up my sleeve -"

"Yeah, it's all fine, Mulder." Skinner's eyes hinted at Samantha's direction, telling him that his friend understood his predicament. "Here," the Producer opened his jacket's lapel and stuck his hand inside, digging out a white envelope. He handed it to Mulder, waving it for a millisecond in the air and letting the arrogant sun reflect the newness of its surface. "Two tickets to Paris, France. That's for the fourth, my man."

"The fourth!" Mulder exclaimed, running his fingers through his hair nervously. What was this? A forced vacation of some sorts? And why the fuck through Walter? Why not summon or call him? "The - the movie's editing isn't even finished yet … and the movie's album … what is this, Walter? Did I do something that royally _pissed_ them off?"

"Stop this, Mulder. The men just gave you a one-week stay in Paris so that you could scout for the perfect location of the Bee Gees' MTV. They want you to bring Dana with you so that she too could contribute … and they also want you to contact Mr. Friedrich Dupléra for this. He's the Director they recommended for this MTV. He'd get you a crew at once. Remember, the soundtrack is also important … and it is important that we release it together with the film." Skinner gave him a folder, opening it up so that he'd receive it that way. Inside were rows of papers concerning the MTV, the concept the studio wanted, and information about the certain Mr. Dupléra.

Reviewing all this, Mulder sighed. He really wanted to believe that this was the only layer in this Paris trip, but he had the underlying feeling that it was more than this. That he had done something wrong that's why they were tearing him away from one of his main priorities.

"Don't second guess, Mulder. Just do what they want. This would also do you good … you had been through a lot lately and I'm sure that Paris is just the place you need."

"Need … but not want," he interjected, whispering the last word. His eyes scanned the perimeter of his grandson's funeral … from Scully's lone figure in front of the fresh grave, Emily and Samantha talking in hushed tones with his mother looming in their background, the dispersing guests, the springing flowers of the scattered trees, the peeking sunshine of Los Angeles …

Need, but definitely not want.

"Fine, I'll follow their orders. They are THE gods, anyway."

"This will do you more good than bad, Mulder," Skinner testified, patting him on his shoulder. Despite the thick shoulder pads that he had to wear to keep his suit uptight, he could still feel the heaviness of his friend's hand on his bones. "I promise."

* * *

Since Scully had not yet learned how to drive the _Skyhawk_ he bought her for her birthday, it was under his hands for the while. He frequently used the car when picking Scully up from the studio, or whenever they were together, period. It was a small reminder of their togetherness for him, a small reminder of their relationship that they kept hidden from the public. It's also newly tinted, unlike his other cars (which he would get tinted too, soon), so it was a plus for keeping the prying eyes of the media away from him and his star.

"Par … Paris?!" Scully uttered in disbelief, cradling the tickets in her hands as if they were gold. She alternated glances from Mulder, to the tickets and the folder, outside of the car, and back at him. "What … what … why? I mean … _that's _Paris, Mulder. They want us to go to Paris?"

"The location of the Bee Gees' MTV."

"Oh my god … I can't believe this … oh god … this is definitely something!"

"Yeah, sure it's something," he replied in a dull monotone, flipping his sunglasses from the dashboard and putting it square on his nose when he saw the flock of media people scrambling outside the cemetery's gates. He was following the procession of guests from the funeral, and he saw how each car was hassled by the very persistent reporters. Thank god he used the _Skyhawk._

Scully took one last, lingering gaze at the tickets and tucked them back into the envelope, in turn removing the impromptu trip specifications from her lap and onto the dashboard. "What's wrong? You don't seem excited about Paris. This is Paris, Mulder. You should … your Father …"

"Don't you think it's the least bit odd that they're giving me a vacation in the finishing process of the editing? What about you? You still have tours and guest slots to process." Mulder stoically drove the car into and out of the crowd, ignoring random callings of his and Scully's name and the hard tapping of the reporters' hands on the car when they slowed down. After they were safely out of the media's zones, Mulder resumed his 60.

"Well, technically," Scully murmured, toying around with the air condition vents. "I'm done. I've musically arranged _Danced Yesterday_, have appeared in _Cheers …_ and _Moonlighting'_s still next month. Mr. Skinner is the person in charge of processing my guest appearances … leaving me with virtually nothing to do for the next two weeks. I was thinking of visiting Mr. Jayson for three days in Las Vegas, since you too are busy with postproduction, but this Paris trip just came in time." She licked her lips, afterwards biting the lower portion to keep her excitement at bay. "There are editors, Mulder … you know that. You can't be the director and the editor and the casting agent ... It's about time you let go."

"This is my first film, Scully. I have to ensure its perfection."

"And you've done your best," she said, putting a hand on his forearm. Mulder sighed, knowing that pretty soon he'd be giving up and consenting this Paris trip in no time. Scully should've been a businesswoman. She could convince a whole herd of cows that they were born monkeys. "Don't you think we deserve this trip? Just the two of us? To get us away from all the chaos here in LA? I want to go, Mulder, please. I need …" she trailed off, removing her hand from him and looking out of her window. "I need to be with you, alone. There had been too many things going on around us and in our relationship lately - and with our recent fight … don't you want to slow down? To take stroll? To stop running for once?"

"Sure, I'm running, but I do so at a leisurely pace."

"MULDER," she scolded, her tone becoming firm. She faced him again, scooting over closer to the driver's seat. "We should go to this trip. We'll get great sleep, great sex, great romantic dinners, and you'll be able to exercise your French."

Great sex?!

Oh god.

"You just officially sold me out, Ms. Dana Scully." Mulder grinned, genuinely for the first time that day. She reached over and kissed the side of his neck, breathing into his ear a small "thank you," before reaching over the wheel and plucking his hand, resting it on her thigh and interlacing their fingers together.

He's also officially needing AND wanting that trip right now.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER THIRTY SIX**

* * *

**A/N:** I'll try to upload the next chapter within this month. Let me know what you think so far, because we're going to Paris!


	40. Chapter Thirty Seven: The Royal Monceau

This obscenely long chapter contains sexually explicit material.

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN:**

* * *

The Royal Monceau  
Paris, France  
April 6, 1986  
Sunday

Mr. Bill Mulder had been to Paris a number of times. It was in Paris that he had his first independent trip. It was in Paris where he first took Teena Mulder out for their private engagement party. And ultimately, it was also in Paris where he married the love of his life.  
He dreamt of one day taking his kids to the Paris - to be with his whole family without any interruptions. During the last years of his life, Bill's work had become very demanding, and going home to relax was rare. He once told Mulder that if he was given the time, he would pay for a one-month vacation in Paris.

That time never came.

"One room, Mulder?" Scully interjected, taking his arm and drawing him away from the front desk of their hotel, _The Royal Monceau_. The pleasant-faced brunette receptionist gave them a funny look, jutting out her bright red lower lip disapprovingly. Mulder waved a polite hand at her, keeping his heels intact on the floor, telling the woman: "_Veuillez m'excuser._" Excuse me, in English.

When they reached a large white towering pillar littered with fresh red roses, Scully all but threw him onto the structure. "What were you thinking?" she demanded, her pitch rising. She nervously whisked away stray tendrils of red hair from her face, revealing the marvelous (and unusual) highlight of red across her cheeks. "Mulder, we can't stay in one room here. Your expense reports would …"

"Darling, no one would know. I'm using my _other_ credit card for this." For emphasis, he dug into his back pocket, waved his wallet in front of her nose, opened it, chose from the thick collection of credit cards, and revealed his OTHER credit card. The one he apparently didn't use all that much.

Scully's skepticism didn't waver. As usual.

"I promise you that there's no paparazzi in Paris. Who's interested in a budding director and his budding star? No one! I promise you that." To assure her, he quickly stole a kiss on her forehead, his hand finding the small of her back, and he started to rub her worries away. "I promise you this, okay? Now can we go and check-in? I'm hungry and tired … and I want to spend our first day in bed. Literally."

Scully still kept her skeptical gaze at him, but when her eyes somewhat softened, Mulder held her by the waist and drew her to the front desk. The previously abandoned receptionist smiled at their reappearance, asking him a few questions in tight French. While Mulder came to fill some papers up for their check-in, Scully was conversing with a busboy about their luggage. At the corner of his eye, he could see the twenty-ish busboy hiding a slight smile at Scully's well-defined British accent.

Returning the papers to the front desk, Mulder gave the attendant a weak smile. "She's from Wales," he reasoned out, in English. The brunette attendant nodded slowly, eyes trailing at Scully. She tucked the papers into one of the folders and typed something into their computer. After this, she handed Mulder a key.

"_Elle c'est véritable plutôt._"

Mulder's lingering smile grew wide at the attendant's comment. "Yes, she is very pretty. _Je vous remercie tellement._" Grabbing the key, he gave the attendant one last friendly wave and headed onto where Scully was. She had folded her arms in a tight cross, biting her lip unconsciously while studying the diverse crowd slipping in and out of the front lobby. She probably felt lost in the swarm of different races, her eyes weakly searching for something familiar to hold onto.

Scully- girl _déjà vu_.

He whisked this worry from her by anchoring a hand around her waist, ruffling the soft velvety fabric of her blue off-shoulder shirt. Scully reflexively relaxed in his arms, molding her back to his front cautiously, minding the other people who were liable to recognize them and spot them holding each other in a not-so-friendly way.

"C'mon, darling, let's go," he softly urged into her ear.

She smiled at him - one that didn't quite border on her lilies and carnations grin, one that had a certain amount of sadness attached to the corners. "Bill went here with Mother once … when Missy was only eight months old. You know, they spent New Year underneath the Eiffel Tower. Can we do that, Mulder? C- can we spend some time underneath the Eiffel Tower? I'd also like to bring Emily back something Parisian out here."

He couldn't help smiling back at her apparent fondness for her deceased Mother and the hidden love she would always have for the siblings she left behind in Wales. It would always be a mystery to him on why they weren't contacting her, but no mysteries were left unsolved. Someday, Scully would share these mysteries with him. Someday.

"Of course we can do that, Scully. Anything for you."

He wanted to see her reaction to this. But Scully-girl moved before he could. She interlaced their fingers together and nudged them both forward towards the elevator, but not before turning towards the bellboy and signalling him to follow after them.

He had to call his Mother. That was his first initial instinct upon checking in the hotel. Sure, that promised great sex from Scully was nudging this initial instinct down to a second, but he wanted his Mom to hear his voice while he was in Paris. It had the rare authenticity to it - a small reminder for her that his Father still lived within him.

Mulder sat down on the king-sized bed's edge, unconsciously feeling with his fingertips the embroideries on the satin covers. Adjacent to him was the row of bags they brought with them on their trip, with Scully meticulously arranging them by height. Seeing this, he shook his head fondly and called for her.

She lifted her head from her task, giving him a guilty smile. "Sorry, I was just feeling for a change of clothes. "

They did agree that this trip was made in order for them to have the luxury of having each other without anymore qualms, without anymore barricades or worries about them getting caught. It was made more for pleasure than for business, and included in the agreement was that Scully wouldn't do her usual compulsive cleaning.  
But rather than getting angry, he returned her smile and patted his lap. Scully obliged at once, standing up from her squatting position and heading towards him. Before their bodies could connect, impatient hands lingered on Scully's hips and he pulled her to him, settling her on his thighs and tucking her legs against him with his left arm. His right arm circled her waist, bringing her closer than intended – which was always a good thing, always.

Mulder kissed the tip of her white nose. Scully stared back at him with impossibly clear blue eyes, expecting more than an innocent kiss after that. But he relented, knowing that he had other things to clear up before indulging … and as for Scully, she told him how she had wanted to get out of the uncomfortable ruffles of her off-the-shoulder shirt for the umpteenth time on the plane. He did steal a quick kiss on her reddened lips, tasting the fruity lipstick she put on before they disembarked the plane.

"How can I possibly get mad at you, huh?" he nuzzled her neck, breathing in the soothing cucumber scent - this time, it's from a perfume that he bought for her before they packed for this trip. "Just don't overdo this fetish, okay, darling?" As he expected, she purred after his term of endearment. She had once told him how much she loved the way the_ d_ of his darling rode from his tongue. According to the Spunk, it sounded something out of a Gregory Peck movie, something out of _Roman Holiday_. Classic was the exact word she used, if he wasn't mistaken.

"I'm fine with that, Mulder," Scully replied, closing her eyes and wringing her arms around his neck. "Are you going to call Emily, too?"

"I should … but I'm not sure though." It shouldn't be a question if they were talking about Emily a few weeks ago - before the death of his grandson and before everything that had happened: he WOULD call Emily. However, she was a mess when they left Los Angeles. It had almost torn him apart to leave his daughter in total distress, but Jeffrey had insisted that they go. He promised Mulder that he would take care of his daughter and that they'd be undergoing a marriage counseling; not having him around could actually be fruitful. Emily could concentrate _only_ on making herself better.

After making sure that Emily was fine with the idea that her Father wouldn't be around for a whole week, he finally gave in to the trip and settled on a deal with Scully: They would only think about themselves during the trip. Occasional phone calls could be made, the job that had to be done should be settled, but the trip was for them and no one else.

Scully trailed her lips over his cheek, feeling the one-day growth that had occurred over their travel. It sure felt like a whole day - or days - of travel for him. There was an eleven-hour difference between Los Angeles and Paris. When they left LA on August 5, they arrived in Paris on August 6. What the International Date Line did to their bodies should be mended by quiet, sullen, and romantic sex … and a good doze afterwards. Nothing more could relax him than having Scully beside him, soothing him into oblivion. It was precious knowledge that he knew he wouldn't want to lose for the rest of his life.

The sharp-witted British accent of his lover brought him back to reality. "You should go on and call your Mother." She gave him a quick kiss on the lips before dragging her ass away from his lap. Mulder winced at the loss of contact.

Hearing this, Scully turned back around to face him, reaching out to brush her lips against his forehead. "I'll just take a quick shower to wash off the grime, okay? And then we can do what I promised."

"I'll still have the grime," he protested feebly, running a hand on the stubbles of his chin for emphasis. Seeing this, she gave him a seductive grin, one that no one else had seen except him. It was his badge of pride: the fact that when he saw the darkening blue hues of her eyes, he was the only person in the world for her; he was the only person who could ever own Dana Scully.

"I like a little grime on you," Scully answered back, her voice dropping, making his Adam's apple bob up and down. She lowered her head so that she could plant another warm wet kiss on his neck, just a few inches from his nervous Adam's apple, before she drew apart from him. She first eyed the baggage with a finger on her chin, and then shrugged nonchalantly, heading to the bathroom without bringing a change of clothes.

He stared aimlessly at the closed bathroom door for moments, contentedly smiling at himself. Then, he picked up the phone and dialed for the operator.

After some static, a few rings, a few patient-though-annoyed huffs from the operator at his grammar, _finally_, his Mother picked up the phone.

"_Bonjour, beauté! Comment allez-vous?" _His grammar might suck, but his Mother's grammar was simply the worst when it came to French. True to form, he heard his Mother swallow a deep breath, and he could almost see her struggling through the cobwebs in her brain when it came to her husband's second language. Mrs. Mulder wasn't properly educated in French, but during the years she spent with Mr. Mulder, she had learned to understand most of the phrases and expressions that came with the language. Knowing this, Mulder used the simplest French words he could find for a greeting. He hoped his Mother could still process these.

"If I'm not mistaken, Fox, you're either telling me that 'it had been a good day and how am I' or that 'Good day, I'm going to comment on dinner,'" his Mother chuckled good-naturedly, and Mulder made a _ding, ding, ding _sound.

"Close, but not right on the dot. I'd accept though," he said, feeling his inside warm all over when Mrs. Mulder laughed with such carelessness. "Good day, beautiful woman! How do you do?"

"I'm fine, Fox. Quite startled that you're calling at this hour … of course, there is an eleven- hour difference WHICH you conveniently ignored, but anyway, how is Dana?"

"She's great, Mom. You should've seen her stare at the French landscape on our way towards the hotel! She loves it here! Did she mention that her Mother used to take her siblings here? It's no wonder that she was so excited when I showed her the tickets." Mulder placed the phone in between his neck and began to untie his shoes, immediately wriggling his toes as they were freed from their confines. "I'm happy that SHE'S this happy, you know. Sometimes, Scully needs to loosen up a bit. I'm afraid that I'm doing more damage to her psyche."

Teena chuckled at her son's distrust in himself. "Oh dear Lord, you still think that you don't have the supreme power of changing this woman … when in all aspects, that's what you have been doing to her: change."

"Christ, Mom," Mulder started, rolling his eyes and tossing his shoes in a messy pile in front of him. "You are very persuasive. Just tell me what you want from here so that I can change into something more comfortable. I could feel the scent of the airline food sticking to my skin."

"Buy me those Eiffel Tower paperweights your father used to bring home all the time."

"Mom, not that I wouldn't give you everything you want - but you have gazillion of those stored in your closet. Don't you want anything else?"

"Those little paperweights have these teeny-weeny dates on their butts. Get me 1985 and 1986. If there's an advanced shipment for 1987, get me one too. I'm collecting them, if you have noticed that fact at all."

"_Notice_?" Mulder pretended to choke out. "I must be blind if I didn't _notice_ that. What kind of son …"

"And its early morning here, Fox. I still haven't heard any roosters singing for the dawn. Let your poor mother sleep. She still has a big day of tending to her vegetable garden tomorrow."

"You _have_ a vegetable garden? Since when? Since yesterday?"

"That's for me to know and for you to find out when you bring me those paperweights. Go get some good sleep … and tell dear Dana that I give her my regards."

With whispers of "I love you" and the click of the plunger, Mulder couldn't deny the feeling of warmth that was spreading all over him. He was in Paris with the woman he was head over heels with and it was finally sinking in.

He was about to slip his shirt out of his strained muscles when Scully came out of the bathroom, clad in the white hotel-issued bathrobe. Her skin glistened from the hot water she just recently immersed herself in, the mists creeping out of the slightly ajar bathroom door like these came from a well-directed stage smoke machine.

Mulder stopped his current activity, his fingers frozen just underneath his t- shirt. The sight of a still-wet Scully seductively strutting towards him was enough to render his Freudian theories into rebound. His woman flipped her dripping darkened red hair to one shoulder and this move almost flipped him silly, too. The effects of this lady on him would be impossible to count.

She stopped a centimeter away from him, and it seemed like miles from his escalating hunger. All thoughts of the previous long haul flight were thrown out of the window, the said _grime_ on him, the tiredness of his whole body… gone. Just the sight of Scully - most possibly NAKED - underneath that fucking cotton robe and they were all gone.

"I want to do a lot today," she started, snapping him from his reverie. Scully licked her lips shyly, batting her eyelashes at his surprised expression. "But I have to warn you about our body clocks and that we're both tired … not much room for anything than …"

"Quiet lovemaking, and I'm not asking for anything more," his voice rasped, as his hands reached out and grabbed her firmly by the hips. "There _will_ be time for bondage, Scully."

Her eyes widened mockingly, but her mouth betrayed her when she started laughing. Mulder pulled her closer, finally gaining body contact, him finally gaining the only thing he wanted for that past eleven-hour flight.

While fighting off the giggles, Scully was able to straddle him, keeping his legs in between hers. She bit her lip to stop the laughter, pressing her nose on his. Their eyes met and he felt her teeth pull gently on his lower lip. "Fuck it, I _do_ love you too damn much," she breathed against him.

With just that, their lips met and danced that slippery tango … and as he ran his tongue over hers, he took note of the taste of toothpaste and tangy hotel water, plus that unmistakable deliciousness that was only Scully. This was one of those things that would forever define her uniqueness for him. And he wanted to be the only one who could define who she was. Ever.

Losing finesse and the fine art of seduction, he fumbled with her robe, pulling here and there until sheer frustration and the egging erection he was getting made him rip the thing apart. Surprised by this show of force, Scully pulled her glistening lips away from him and looked down at the hotel's apparel. After surveying the mess that he made of her cotton robe, she raised an eyebrow and shrugged. Contact was more important to them right now.

Locking his eyes with hers, Mulder threaded his fingers across her collarbone and slipped them underneath the garment, at once whisking away the remainders of the robe from her body. Finally, FINALLY, her nakedness greeted him and as usual, it was more than a pleasant sight. She was still slightly wet from her shower, water sparkling here and there in the most delicious of places.

Leaning forward, Mulder trailed his tongue on the droplet threatening to materialize on her pink nipple, making Scully visibly swallow. Knowing her reaction to this, he plunged forward and sucked her whole breast, garnering as much of her flesh into his mouth.

Scully buckled, nearly falling over the bed as her knees gave out on her. Her hands immediately found Mulder's shoulders, and she stapled them there to steady herself as he continued to render so much pleasure.

Soon, she was moaning and he was fucking uncomfortable with his jeans. And that was only one breast. Wait until they explore every single place on her body.

"Oh god …" Scully bit her lip to suppress a long- suffering moan, her fingers digging into Mulder's back as his hand found her inner thigh and began to thread upwards. Switching breasts, he closed his eyes in extreme concentration, digging further, spreading her legs wider (as much as her extreme flexibility could accommodate – and yes, she could accommodate a lot), until he found what he was looking, or feeling, for.

He plunged one finger inside her warm depths, hearing her lose her control and she cried out a gullible surrender.

"That's it, darling … no holding back. You promised me."

"Mulder …"

"No, no, you promised." With that, another finger joined in. Another bite. Another moan. A louder one. He began to stroke, slowly.

"Mulder … God … please, let's … we h- have …"

"I hear you … what do you want?" Mulder released her breast with a slow glide, making Scully arch towards his mouth, desperately trying to find a way to reconnect. But he drew apart, removing his fingers from inside of her and instead held onto her bare waist. He didn't want her to lose her position with the way she was thrashing in front of him.

She brought her head back down; licking her lips, blinking hazy blue eyes, and settled her forehead against his own. "I want you naked, Mulder. In me and naked. _Now_."

When they were both deprived of great sex or any means of connection in the longest time, he had known Scully to be very demanding of having him inside of her. Spunk forgot to open her palms out when the gods handed out patience - and not that he was complaining. They had time for foreplay later on. She never failed him. She just should get what she wanted on the first fuck and then they could make out all they want before the main event.

He allowed her to undress him, settling his back flat on the bed and watching her take over him. She pushed her curly mop of red hair behind her ears and determinedly removed every inch of his clothing. Scully did this with agonizing slowness, her naughty eyes darting from her task at hand to his face – which was now efficiently constricted in plain agony. And who wouldn't be agonized with the way Spunk's hands roamed all over his body, every exposed skin claimed, while she bent over him in her naked glory? Damn it!

Scully may get what she wanted … and unfortunately for him, she also wanted torturing him.

At LAST she reached his underwear. Just as Scully was caressing the garters of his green-red boxers (yes, her favorite one), he reached his boiling point. Mulder whisked her hands away to her utter surprise, and wiggled out of his now- confining clothing, freeing his raging erection, tossing the damn thing somewhere in the room. Scully was only permitted to raise an eyebrow upon seeing the extent of his arousal before she was drawn down to her side. He pinned her by her waist, turning his body around to confront her beautifully-flushed face.

"I thought you wanted me inside you _at once_," he reminded her, his eyelids briefly fluttering on the feel of her hot breath on his cheeks. Scully smiled shyly.

"I _did_."

"What about now?" he coaxed, the hand on her waist sliding down to her thigh and lifting it up onto his pelvis, baring her sex. Knowing well his next intention, Scully pressed closer towards him, almost crushing her breast against his chest, his penis hovering atop her opening. From this point, he could feel the heat of her center, making his Adam's apple bob up and down anxiously.

She wrapped an arm around his neck and pressed a kiss on his lips. Sweet and tender. "I'll always do, Mulder. Always."

That was permission granted.

He flung his hand behind him, towards the bedside table for the box of condoms he had in handy, but was stopped by Scully's fingers on his bicep.

"No, not today," she indignantly stated, eyes calmly gazing deep into his.

Mulder's eyebrows met in surprise. What the hell was she talking about? "Scully … we can't do this without the …"

"I took some pills," Spunk guiltily confessed, her eyes drawing down to his clavicle, searching for confidence. She found some and her eyes snapped back up to his, once again seething deep into his. "Let's … let's give this a chance … for us to feel each other without any barriers. I'm fine, I don't feel any side effects … please, Mulder."

His brow met his hairline in deep thought, but all precedence of an argument over this was lost by Scully's fingers blindly finding his sex, and the soft pressure she placed on it when her hand encircled his girth.

"Don't think … not now. We can do that some other time. Please, give us this chance."

Fine. Not now, but later. Definitely later on. As if he had any choice, or will to argue, with her hand around his cock.

No one had to be a martyr in this situation. The devil's on his shoulder and he wanted nothing more but to give in to its temptation.

A grunt escaped his throat as he thrust upwards, angling his penis towards her entrance. After a bit of fumbling, he easily slid home, her warm wetness coating his arousal with immense, indescribable feeling. It felt amazing with the condom on - but now, it felt… downright perfect. Her slickness was sheer ecstasy and feeling this made butterflies flutter in his stomach. They both gasped in unison when Mulder tried to wiggle a bit for more room within her. The sensations their every movement together was rendering were all so mind-boggling and arousing. He realized that he probably got the hardest he had ever been upon feeling her raw wetness on his dick.

This was where he belonged, where he wanted to be all his life. No woman ever made him feel this way in his fucking life. No woman ever made him want to live inside of her forever. Only Scully would be able to do this to him.

As a small thank you, Mulder blindly groped for Scully's lips and tried to devour her with passionate kisses that left both of them moaning.

When they parted, her smug face did not escape him. It was a silent way of telling him that she was right all along about this decision.

Then it was time for him to move.

He started off with slow strokes, easing away the tensions of the eleven-hour flight and the kinks in their physique. When he began to descend into their favorite rhythm, a mix of undeniable arousal and peaceful calmness came over Scully's face. It was perfection too, in itself - the most beautiful sight he had ever seen in his damn life. So he watched her close her eyes and open her mouth in slow moans that drew shivers from his back. He loved watching her.

As his strokes started to quicken, Scully's eyes flew open and they connected with his. It was her tranquil blues arresting his hazel ones. Then she began to pump up and down too, matching his beat, until a familiar sensation began to coil in his belly.

"Scully …"

Sweat lined her brow, auburn flickers of hair sticking on her forehead. "Don't… don't… speak," she muttered, placing a finger on his lip.

Stubborn to his core, he kissed that finger and removed it from his face. "I love you, don't you ever … aaah … fucking forget th- that, okay? I'll love you fore- forever."

"I never … will," she replied, and then her eyes snapped shut suddenly. Her body began to quiver, her inner muscles tightening on his penis, her mouth opening to squeals of his name.

That was enough to get him off.

A minute, a second, a century - whoever cared - later, Mulder opened his eyes and found Scully snuggled into his chest, her hand wandering over his sparse hair there. She was on the brink of sleep, but throughout this all, they never disconnected. They were still joined together beneath their pelvises. And he had no intention of undoing this. It felt incredible losing yourself to a woman this way.

He was about to fall asleep, too, when Scully's voice pulled him out of his haze.

"You'll never know how much this will ever mean to me, Mulder."

Curious, he lifted his head a few inches from the pillow to signal to her that he was still awake. "Scully?"

She moved a little bit higher up on their pillow, reaching over to caress his cheek. "This … making love to you … to be loved by you … to share my life with you. I wanted us to go up another step today in our relationship, you understand? It's just that … I- I never was loved this much in my life. You are everything to me. I don't want to lose you," she declared. Suddenly, as if struck by what she had said, she bit her lip. "I love you," she almost whimpered.

Deep inside of him, he already knew what it meant to Scully. All her tears showed him, the way she held him showed him, the way she made love to him showed him… and this risk of taking pills showed him a lot too, but there was a certain dip in her tone that made something in him well up. It was as if he was seeing Scully in her rawest form - not Scully- girl, not Spunk - but her, Dana Scully as herself. She wasn't hiding from him, she wasn't holding back. This was Dana Scully at her purest.

Arguments of what could happen and what shouldn't have happened that moment disappeared from his head. What she did was right. They were right.

"I have a whole lifetime to discover just how it means to you, Dana," he answered. Just as her first name slipped from his lips, a tear appeared at the corner of her eye. Mulder brushed it away with his thumb. "Don't cry," he whispered, not really understanding her show of affection or why she was being like this. Not that he was complaining, but it was all so new to him, to finally see Dana Scully as herself.

More tears slipped, but he was forced to ignore it when Scully drew closer into his embrace, pressing her wet cheek on his heartbeat.

Words were rendered obsolete – none were needed to be spoken. She could all hear it in the beating of his heart.

* * *

An artist could never capture Paris in his canvas, as it was that he believed that no one could ever own Paris' itself. She might belong to France, but no one could ever own her perfection … the way the trees swayed in the gentle breeze, the cascading leaves dropping aimlessly on relaxing passers- by, the Eiffel Tower's glory and the romanticism it carried on it's shoulders, the accordion in the background … it was all so unique. So … Paris.

He was also revelilng in post-coital bliss (post-coital bliss of not using any condoms - and it's a very, very good kind of bliss) that second, so maybe he's channeling more of Shakespeare Mulder than rational Mulder.

"Do you know that you think too much, Mulder?"

His thoughts swayed and immediately flew with the afternoon wind. Mulder felt Scully's presence at his back, but did no visible signs to acknowledge her.

"Yes, you've told me more than once," he admitted without any hesitation. It was one trait that he had completely accepted ever since he was a kid. "Does it bother you?"

"No." Scully settled beside him on the patio, crossing her arms before her and pushing them underneath her breasts. Her curly mop of hair staggered with the wind, and she had to turn towards the current to preserve her hairstyle. "Well … sometimes it does."

A sneer found Mulder's lips as he pressed his front onto Scully's back, molding their bodies perfectly. He wrapped his arms around her waists, hands finding the hem of her shirt and diving underneath, seeking contact with her porcelain skin. Scully's head settled on his shoulder -something that did not happen often, and it only did at that moment because she was wearing three-inched heels.

"Why?" he asked, lips close to her forehead.

"I don't know … maybe because sometimes you drift off without a reason and I just … just can't decipher what in the world you are constructing in your mind." Scully took a strong whiff of his aftershave, her face losing that lilies and carnations grin that he never could find himself getting tired of. "Are you angry at me for not telling you about the pills? I just randomly brought them along for the trip. I just thought I'd try them for both of us."

It's been half an hour ever since the greatest sex-marathon he's ever had in his whole forty years of living on this earth. Was he fucking angry?

_How_ in the world could he be fucking angry?

"You read me pretty well, you know," Mulder assured her teasingly. "What do you think?"

She chortled a little, understanding what he meant by that statement. "I know that … I just want to be sure," she paused, taking in a deep breath. "There are times when I can't push through you … but I'm not anxious about them. I'm glad about them."

"Glad about them?"

"Yes … because it means that I still have a lot to discover, I still have a lot to work for. I would always like something new between us, Mulder. Always." Another pause, one that she seemed to be at loss for words with until she spoke again. "Back in Wales, it was the same old thing. I would wake up in the morning and then I'd dance until the afternoon, because that was the only thing I wanted to do. Then I'd eat … and read some medical books until evening. Sometimes, Melissa calls for me to assist her to do something - she was so pregnant and so jovial during those moments. It was the happiest I've ever seen her. If I'm even luckier, Charles would actually say two words to me. But Bill … Bill would come into my room and check on me every hour. He's my big brother … he's there, but we don't connect."

The sickening realization settled on Mulder: why the fuck weren't these people even writing Scully? It's obvious in her voice that she missed them so damn much, and there they were, going on with their normal lives … as if they didn't even have a younger sister dancing her ass off in America. In a foreign land! They should at least be worried.

"Why don't we call Melissa? It had been a whole year without any communication except for your letters …"

"I really appreciate your concern, Mulder … but it's better that we don't."

"Scully -"

"Hey," her voice suddenly perked up, her mood lightening, her face brightening. "I want to meet Mr. Dupléra and discuss the whole concept of the MTV! Let's go now!" Scully broke free of their embrace and began to tug on his wrist.

Mulder had no other choice but to allow himself to be led willingly inside the hotel room for a change of wardrobe.

* * *

It took them a total of two hours to find Mr. Dupléra's house: a total of one hour rummaging through the hotel's yellow pages down in the lobby, while Scully trotted from the lobby and back to the hotel's restaurant, bringing with her _croissant _and coffee (without milk but with two tablespoons of sugar, just the way he liked it).

His rusty French wasn't helping him find the man's home. They had the address, the necessaries that should be processed when they meet the man, but they needed the landmarks so that they could at least be familiar with where they were going. He's not the type who could ride in a taxi and give the driver your whole trust. He needed to be sure.

Scully, on the other hand, was getting mighty exasperated with this whole charade. She practically sat up after browsing through three pages of French instructions and offered to get him something to eat. After he finished what she brought him, she began to offer another set of meals. He kept saying yes so as not to annoy her. By the time they were in the taxi, Mulder was ready to barf.

He was hovering outside of Mr. Dupléra's supposed apartment, double checking the address on the piece of paper he was holding and then looking around him, making sure that the landmarks were correct. Beside him was a scurry of an impatient redhead: her arms crossed and her lips slit tight together.

"I'm sorry, I just have to be sure, Scully," he mumbled, not even sure if she heard him or not. He read the address again and stared up at the golden number "56" flashing right before his eyes under the sharp sunlight. "I think we've got it right."

"Didn't I tell you that for the one thousandth time a long while ago, Mr. Superman?" Scully mumbled back, keeping her impatience under a lid. She lifted her hand and began to jabber invisibly at the doorbell. "I'm going to ring the damn thing now, and you are not going to stop me." The next tilt of her finger landed flat on the circular button, rendering a soft humming of bells from somewhere above them.

Mulder stared up from Scully's face, bewildered at the doorbell tone's familiarity. It must've been a French song his Father once hummed to him when he was a kid.

"_Je arrivée! Je arrivée!"_ A shrill woman's voice from inside of the apartment proclaimed. Mulder's ears tickled unexpectedly on hearing the voice. It was strangely familiar … _viciously_ familiar, actually.

His mind began to rack up the most memorable women he had encountered in his lifetime when he was stopped by Scully's own crescendo: "What was she saying?" his lover asked, her tone uneasy. Mulder tilted his head towards her and replaced the slideshow of women in his brain with his rustier than rusty French knowledge.

"Uhh … I think it's something like, 'I'm coming", or …"

Before he could finish his translation, the latches on the door began to rattle, drawing both of their attention towards the entrance. Then a woman - sporting a shiny, straight jet black hair and the snazziest pair of 1970's era jeans he had ever seen in a while - pulled the door open. Her green eyes analyzed Scully from head to toe, then him.

To his utter shock, her green eyes registered surprise and her mouth surrendered to gravity.

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed, in perfect American accent. Scully raised an eyebrow, directing this towards him. He had no explanation, so he just shrugged.

Not noticing this, the woman covered her wide-open mouth with a hand, but this did not stop her from talking. "Oh MY god! I can't believe this … Fox? Is that you?!"

Yes, there was something really … as in REALLY strangely familiar with the woman's voice, but Mulder couldn't quite pinpoint who she was.

He glanced again at Scully, another shrug finding his shoulders. "Uhh, yes, I'm Fox Mulder … and you are?"

"Oh god, I can't believe this shit! It's me!" The woman pointed excitedly at her lace- covered chest. "Janice! Janice Christen! College, you know, we -"

Scully's eyebrows reached her hairline in understanding.

His did too.

OH … _that_ Janice.

Of course, his girlfriend back in college … before Diana came and wrecked his whole life. The girl who he THOUGHT he had loved above all, who he thought he could spend the rest of his life with. The girl who showed him how to have real fun in a relationship, and not just in the bed. The girl who taught him to smoke crack, and he did, because he thought he loved her. And the girl who, ultimately, had to enter a rehabilitation center for drug abuse. Their relationship was as quirky as that.

When Janice left him in college, he was too high on drugs to actually have his heart broken, until he forgot about her and she must've forgotten about him, too. He always believed that he only loved her because she showed him how to love life. And he had never stopped loving life after Janice.

A wide smile finally broke over his face. "Janice! I didn't recognize you!" Hell, of course he couldn't recognize her - her hair used to be curly back in college. She used to be thinner too, paler, and more … mysterious. Right now she looked like any Frenchman did: sassy, different, but hey … still … mysterious. Take for example the question lingering in the back of his mind: What the fuck was she doing in Mr. Dupléra's supposed apartment?

Nevertheless, he opened his arms and took her in them. He hugged her earnestly, but at the corner of his eye, he watched Scully force a smile on and patience in her eyes. Mulder wanted to reach out to his lover and explain things, but he had to attend to the lingering matters on hand first.

"Man, Janice, you look damn different!" Mulder released his ex-girlfriend, clutching her shoulders and shaking his head. "I mean … this is amazing. It had been YEARS! Look at us! We're old!"

Janice laughed at his observation. "You still look the same to me, Fox. Believe me."

Suddenly, she bit her lip and nodded towards Scully's direction, as if remembering that there's another person alive in the planet. "And this beautiful girl is your daughter?"

His eyes widened into saucers.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN**

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter shocked me. I had to split it into two because it originally was around 10,000 words. Too long. And I thought this was a good place to end it until the next instalment, eh?


	41. Chapter Thirty Eight: Dupléra Townhouse

**CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT:**

* * *

Dupléra Townhouse  
Paris, France  
April 7, 1986  
Monday

Oh shit. Shit. SHIT.

_ Nonononononononononono. _

That was wrong, Janice, wrong!

In response to this, Scully blushed ferociously and sank into a puddle of Scully-girl before his very eyes. Mulder opened his mouth to say something, ANYTHING, but nothing came out. That observation was just too embarrassing for both of them. In a relationship like theirs, the last thing they needed was a reminder that they had a twenty-year age gap.

Probably due to their reactions, Janice covered her mouth in sincere apology. "Oh bullshit, I'm so sorry, Fox, I really am!" Their looks must've had said it all.

His ex-girlfriend continued, putting a hand on his shoulder and stepping towards his lover, trying hard to amend things. "I really didn't … I mean … ah …"

If they were talking to Diana, he would've decked her an hour ago. However, they were face-to-face with one of the sincerest woman he had ever been with. Janice Christen was not brutally frank, she was just that: plain sincere. She would give you a compliment and you'd know she meant it.

Mulder slowly moved away from Janice and neared Scully. He lifted her bowed head with his chin and placed an arm around her shoulders. "Let's start this all over again, should we, Janice?" he proposed without drawing his eyes away from Scully's reddened face. Hearing this, Spunk's lips began to twitch into a shy smile.

The woman's face lit up excitedly. "Yes, let's," she agreed, in the same cheery way she used to back in college, whenever he suggested that they watch replays of _I Dream of Jeannie_.

Beside him, Scully sighed, licked her lips, and placed a hand over his on her shoulder.

"Hi, I'm Janice Christen, his ex-girlfriend way back in college." She offered her hand and Scully took it without hesitation. "And you are?"

"This is my life and the star of the movie I'm directing, Janice. She's Dana Scully," he filled in for Spunk. He half-expected her to stomp on his foot for that sweet sentiment and cutting her off, but instead, she smiled her lilies and carnations grin.

"Hi Ms. Christen. You can call me Dana." They broke off their handshake. Janice stepped away and studied them together. She grinned after a moment.

"And you can call me Janice, Dana."

Mulder felt pride swell up in his heart. He was so proud of Scully for being so nice with the lady; it wasn't everyday that Scully was THIS nice. Sometimes she was Spunk and sometimes she was Scully-girl. Right now, it seemed like he's holding in his arms the girl who confessed to him how much he meant to her a night ago. He's holding _Dana Scully_ in his arms. For real.

As Janice invited them into the apartment, explaining that she was engaged to MTV Director Mr. Dupléra, Mulder pressed a stolen kiss on Scully's lips, just because he could and just because she was WHO she was that moment.

* * *

"What ever happened to us, huh, Fox?"

Mulder bit into the homemade croissant, sinking his teeth into the layers of butter and strawberry jam with delight. Through the flaky bread, he was able to answer.

"You never really came back after the rehab … and I suddenly found myself married to a pregnant woman." Hearing this, Janice almost dropped her coffee on the antique marble table. He continued his story. "Diana Fowley. Do you remember her? Brown hair, tall … she used to be a campus nerd until she started smoking crack. I think you argued with her once or twice during _us_."

Recognition filled his ex-girlfriend's eyes, then they began to sink back into pure disgust. "You _married_ that motherfucker? C'mon Fox, that's damn pathetic. What happened?" She motioned towards him, trying to find words to summon up what she felt for the situation. "H … how did you become this? A Hollywood director and apparently the lucky boyfriend of a gorgeous redhead?"

Mulder twisted his head towards where _his_ gorgeous redhead was. Scully was sitting down on a stool just outside of the open balcony, with Mr. Dupléra busily sketching her features.

It all started the moment they descended up the artist's/director's apartment and met Friedrich (who was busily splashing paint all over his apartment. According to the "engaged" couple, they were remodeling the place to fit it for themselves after their wedding). The gawky and intimidating man eyed Scully with curiosity, pulled her apart from the group, and sat her down the balcony. According to Janice, it was a stern indication that he saw something different within Spunk.

Friedrich asked Mulder for permission to sketch Scully, but since their main reason for the visit was for the MTV, Mulder told him that Mr. Dupléra could sketch his lover ONLY after they discuss business. So they did, and now, an hour and thirty minutes later, Friedrich was happily stroking the immense canvas before him with Scully sitting under the glorious French sun, clad in Janice's black, lacy night-shirt. His woman looked positively radiant underneath the bright sunshine, her hair (which wasn't treated with a perm due to his request; he always thought she looked more beautiful without all the curls) swirling on her shoulders.

Returning to Janice, he sighed deeply. "That's roughly ten years down the road. I have a daughter who's younger than my lover and who's going through marriage therapy, I'm forty-years-old …"

"Here, here!"

"And I feel as if I'm only twenty-five. It feels great to be in love this way."

"I know," Janice replied, casting her hooded eyes towards her fiancée. "Rich means the world to me. After I met him I stopped doing drugs. His art is more passionate than anything else I've tried. I just surrendered to him." A smile found her thin lips. "You're a different man, Fox Mulder. When I met you back then, you were always so uptight, such a workaholic … or a _study-holic._ You never knew when to quit. Right now… you are so relaxed, so tranquil - as if you've found what you were looking for all along. She … Dana, changed you, didn't she?"

Change had been the main theme of his story with Scully. Yet, change still would never be adequate to ever describe what that petite swirl of red hair and spunk could ever mean to him.

"As I've said, Jan, Dana's my life," he said slowly, picking on the crumbs that he scattered around his plate. "We've only known each other for a year … yet it's like lifetimes ago."

"Then what are you fucking waiting for?" Janice coaxed, waving a spoon in his direction. "Marry her! You shouldn't sit there and wait for divine interference! You shouldn't take her for granted!"

Mulder grinned and shook his head. "No, that's just not us right now. I want marriage in the future, of course, but not _now._ This is all too new."

Maybe his tone gave him completely away, because within a minute, Janice had her voice lowered down and her head bent closer to his ear, obviously mindful of their lovers' presences in the room.

"_Too_ new? That's bullshit. You told me that its like you have known her lifetimes ago and this relationship's too _new?_ C'mon," she whispered harshly, rolling her eyes. "But I think I understand you, Fox. I look at her and see so much. She's so complicated."

Ms. Dana Scully wasn't nicknamed 'Spunk' for nothing.

Mulder ran a hand through his hair. "That's what makes her even more precious to me. She's layers and layers of complication … knots I have to untangle. Sometimes I'm just pulling and pulling - and the knots get tighter, but there are also times when I would be able to untangle her. I don't know her past … yet the understanding is within me.

"We're like this … so, see? We are in no condition for marriage."

"I think you are just trying to hide the possibility. What if she dies the next day? What if she decided she's had enough of America and she wanted to go back to Wales? What if she looked over her shoulder and found someone else? Do you want to lose your _life,_ Mulder?"

An intense fear captured his heart, clasping it into a tiny shivering ball of muscle. Those things weren't possible, were they? Scully would never leave him. She'd never go back to Wales without him; she'd never replace him… would she? Mulder fidgeted nervously, thrusting the coffee and plate of half-bitten croissant away. He suddenly lost all his appetite.

Janice placed a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry for that, but I just wanted to drive straight to the point. It's just another point-of-view, you don't have to regard it as anything substantial."

He opened his mouth to say something, but Friedrich rushed over to their table and ended their conversation. The artist revealed a breathtaking sketch of his Scully on his canvas, muttering quick words in French. He handed the artwork to Mulder and he accepted it gratefully, running his eyes and fingertips over the perfect likeness of his lover. Spunk was caught naturally, with her lips slightly parted and her hair mellowed down despite the breeze. Her eyes spoke a thousand words through the canvas, and that moment, Mulder wanted to hand Friedrich an award for capturing Scully's eyes that way. She was so perfect in the picture.

He lifted his head from the sketch and looked over to Scully. She caught his eyes and held them in her deep gaze, the corners of her mouth twisting slightly into a smile.

* * *

Fox Mulder, king of Harvard bravado, the college frat boy who once jumped out of a 90 km/ph roaring sedan just to feel the rush of the moment, the Superman of Ms. Dana Scully, the demigod of his daughter, was a blazing bundle of nerves at that moment.

He straightened out his turtleneck shirt's collar for the nth time that evening, darting nervous eyes from one tendril of Scully's hair to another - and inside of his head, he was doing a silent count on how many times his lover cleared her throat to bring him back to her. Right at that moment, she was gazing at him skeptically while sipping her white wine.

He swallowed hard, hiding this behind his beer's froth.

She let out an annoyed laugh, with her eyebrow raising and eyes rolling (and yes, it was only Spunk who could do such an expression). "What's going on, Mulder?" she softly demanded, the British afflection cutting through the dimness of his mind. "I really appreciate what you've done for me tonight. I love this _Le Royal's Bar, _but I'm not enjoying with you like this. Is there something wrong?"

It felt wrong somewhere deep inside of him, yet Right was telling him that it was fine.

Janice was to thank for the place's recommendation. She told him it was where Friedrich proposed to her, and maybe it could stir up some romanticism between the Director and dancer. Mulder thanked his ex-girlfriend happily, thinking that this was where he could settle his boggling thoughts and maybe … do what he needed to do.

But when they arrived at _Le Royal's Bar, _it was jam-packed with couples who had similar lovesick expression on their faces. He thought it would be intimate, silent, relaxing … yet he was surprised with almost half of the inhabitants of Paris inside the classy place. For what he wanted to accomplish that evening, he wanted serenity … somewhere that would allow him to focus on Scully alone. _Le Royal's Bar_ definitely wasn't what was on his mind.

When he didn't answer, let alone bat an eyelash, Scully threw him an exasperated sigh. "Mulder, you know patience isn't my middle name. Please speak up."

He looked around steadily, even more nervously. The hippie couple behind their table were already making out like tomorrow would never come. Then there's also a cute geriatric oldies a few feet away from them, gazing at a stack of photos fondly. Finally he blinked and decided that this definitely wasn't the place where he wanted to make his _great_ decision.

"Scully," he started, reaching out across the table and taking her hand into his. Scully gazed at him with wonder, the innocence in her eyes suddenly twinkling beneath the dark lighting of the bar. "Do you want to take a walk outside? There are too many people in this bar. I want some alone time."

The innocence of Scully turned into quizzical and in a split second, he was ushered back into nervousness, the temporary bravado he gathered gone. He was suddenly afraid that she'd sprout that infamous Spunk fire in on him and he'd stumble on his words and intentions. He couldn't screw this damn thing up. If he did, he's just about to screw his life up.

But to his utter luck, his lover relented her grip on her tight composure. "Fine, if that's what it would take for me to hear your side."

Within minutes, they had paid their bill, wrestled their way out of the crowded restaurant, and were strolling along the sidewalks, mindful of the people scattered along the streets in that unique Parisian fashion, sipping tea and enjoying their croissants.

As for both of them, sudden awkwardness took over and they were walking side-by-side, without any direct contact. Scully had her hands tucked under her chest, matching his long strides with her much shorter ones, occasionally glancing at him to see if she could see that he's ready to blurt out what was happening with him.

Inside Mulder was a different story, however. He was afraid - scared even, of asking Scully what he wanted to. It seemed to make sense when Janice lectured him on taking this woman for granted. It _did_ make sense - just NOT right at that moment, with them walking like complete strangers to each other's emotions, desires, needs.

But fuck it; he needed to do this. He needed to feel that he owned her for eternity. He couldn't risk losing this woman. He just couldn't.

He reached out to take Scully by the shoulder. Slowly, gradually, Scully paused and turned around to him. When they were face-to-face, he could see the relief mixed with a multitude of emotions in her eyes. He knew that she could see it in him: fear, trepidation, worry. He was the kindergarten book once again. And she was the reluctant teacher.

"Scully," he started, surprised to even find his voice there. "… Do you know how much I love you?"

She made a shy glance at the people around them, returned her attention back to him, smiled, and nodded. There was confusion in her eyes; he could see it poking out of her, yet she remained still, giving him all the space he needed.

Mulder took a deep breath and Scully's hand, wore a forlorn smile and all the bravado a Mulder could ever have in his blood streams.

"Marry me."

The hand in his turned clammy within a split second after his declaration. Her eyes widened out of proportions, her whole face suddenly paling. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing really came out.

Realizing that he shocked his lover, he ran a hand through his soft hair and began an explanation. Shit, there shouldn't be anything left to realize for him. He should've known that this was going to be her reaction.

"I love you Scully, more than you'll EVEN know. When you came into my life, suddenly there was something different. You were different from every women I've encountered and … and … it was a breath of fresh air. Right from the start, I knew that what I would be having with you was going to be special … was going to be the one I'm _here _for, the one I've been unconsciously waiting for. From the moment you kicked my ass out of my own home in that absurd way that you do … y-you changed me, Scully. I was this overgrown old man who never never matured. You gave me responsibility, company, love; you gave me need again - when before you I had everything I thought I wanted. When you came along, I suddenly realized that YOU were what I needed all along. Everything is clearer with you around; everything just makes perfect sense - even if you did drive me crazy. But I love the feeling of being crazy because of you. I love the way we argue, I love the way you … God, what else should I say? You know these. You look into my eyes and you know _me."_ He paused for breath, feeling tears stinging the back of his eyeballs, but letting all of his remaining composure control them. Scully wasn't fairing in that department, though: tears were already falling down her pale cheeks. Their hands were still interlocked, so she tried hard with her other hand to catch up on all the drops that were running down her face.

Mulder licked his lips and cupped her cheek, brushing away wayward tears with his thumb. "Please say something. I'm drained, Scully. I just said everything that should be said. Tell me what I don't know. Answer me … will you marry me?"

Scully swallowed hard before saying anything, trying her best to grasp her remaining lifeline of composure. She took the hand that was on her cheek and drew it close to her lips, kissing his palm.

"Mulder… I will marry you, but not now."

…

When her answer went through his ear, through his sense organ, through the network of nerves connected to his brain, then towards his heart, it deemed so damn heavy it felt like his gut was kicked by a horse.

He released her hand and began to walk away mindlessly. His mind was a frightful blank as he strode, wanting to get farther away from her as possible.

"Mulder!" she called out, and he heard her hurried footsteps behind him. Finally, she arrived at his side and painfully pulled him towards her, almost knocking out both of them on the ground. When they were settled, Scully looked up and held his face in between her hands in a death grip. If she placed anymore pressure on her grip, she would crush his skull.

"Didn't you hear what I said? I said I'll marry you! But… just not _now_."

What kind of answer was that? She'd marry him … but not now? Then what's the point in answering the question at all?

The pain in his gut suddenly grew to gargantuan proportions.

"Do you want me to go down on my knees?" he offered pitifully, the tears he had been holding back springing free like waterfalls from his hazel eyes. "D- do you want … me to buy you a ring? Right here and now? I'll do that, Scully, I'll do anything for you!"

"I know you would, just as I would for you. I don't need you to prove anything for me … y- you already did when you wanted this relationship. I love you too, Mulder, more than you'll also EVEN know… but I also know that someday we'll have the chance of showing each other just how much. What I mean by my answer is that… we're just not ready for this, for marriage," she said desperately, her lower lip quivering. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but we don't need this right now. There are still so many things happening around us, and so many issues we have to fix, then there's also the people who need to know about us. Marriage isn't the answer."

"No, I want us to get married because I can't go on taking you for granted, Scully. What if I woke up and suddenly found a note from you telling me that you're off to Wales because you're tired of America? What if, what if I suddenly get a call from the authorities telling me that you died of a car crash or something - I want it to be legal before your God, before our families, before everyone else. I don't want them to question anything about us."

"Why do you have to think about THEM, Mulder? I never do. I don't care whether the public finds out about us. I love you and I don't care what the world thinks. So I'm half your age, so what? So what if I'm a nobody who's fallen in love with a big-shot Hollywood Producer? The important thing is that I have you. I also don't care how selfish that sounds.

"And I don't… I couldn't leave you, Mulder. I just couldn't. It'll always be in my heart: how you asked me to stay four months ago, how you grabbed me and held me while asking me to stay … it'll always be with me. Even just _trying_ seemed like trying to move the world… Mulder, please understand… you DON'T take me for granted. You don't understand how much you tell me when you _show_ me that you love me."

Before she could continue, Mulder cut her off. "I hurt you so many times Scully. I've hurt you when Emily's baby died, I've hurt you …"

"Why are you even considering that? People make mistakes, Mulder. I've hurt you too, and I console myself because I think that this relationship could never work without the hurt - that it happens, even if you love the person so fucking much. No one's perfect, Mulder … we're both not." She drew forward and pressed a chaste, passion-filled kiss on his lips. "I'll marry you, but not now. This is not what we need. What we need right now is each other. I want you to ask me that question again when you feel that you want to marry me because you _want_ to, not because you _need_ to, promise me that."

"I promise, Scully," he answered immediately, feeling the pain in his gut moving away and his heart growing lighter. He smiled slightly, allowing Scully to trace his tears away with her fingers, reaching his arms out and watching her fit perfectly into his embrace. Scully burrowed her head on his chest.

"I just have the rest of my life to wait for you to ask that question again, Mulder. I'm not going anywhere anyway. Are you?"

Mulder laughed, kissed her forehead, and stared deep into her watery blue eyes. "No, I guess I'm stranded here with you, Ms. Scully."

The lilies and carnations grin was made, the smile so wide it reached her eyes. It had to be one of the most beautiful smiles he had ever seen on her.

"And that's what I want, Mr. Mulder. That's what I want."

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT**

* * *

**A/N: **I'm dedicating all the chapters set in Paris (written fifteen years ago) to all the victims of the senseless attacks in the same city last week.

_Je suis France. Je suis monde. Je suis vous._


	42. Chapter Thirty Nine: The Royal Monceau

This chapter contains sexually explicit material.

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY NINE:**

* * *

The Royal Monceau  
Dining Hall  
Paris, France  
April 10, 1986  
Thursday

"How did you find out about my hidden coffee preferences? Even Marita doesn't know how I wanted my coffee!" Mulder protested with slight indignation as Scully purposely ignored his whining by busying herself with a New York Times newspaper that she happened upon in the lobby. Mulder sighed loudly, taking a sip of the coffee she brought him, and began to quirk again when his taste buds reminded him just how good the coffee tasted … and how Scully shouldn't know about this. "C'mon Scully, you can't keep this from me. Remember, no secrets!"

Scully rolled her eyes. This was how she told him that she gave up on his no-quitting habit. "I noticed you whenever someone brought you coffee on the set. You would take a sip and grimace, and then leave the cup somewhere. There was one time Walter offered you black coffee that he accidentally put two cubes of sugar in from McDonalds and you happily _devoured_ it. I deemed that strange since you never really took more than three sips of coffee. Four, if you don't want to offend the person who brought you coffee." She flipped the newspaper to another page, raising her eyebrow at whatever she's stumbled upon.

Wow. She NOTICED that?

His silence must've given up this statement, because Scully folded the paper and placed it on her lap, shimmying a few spaces on her seat to face him. "Are you only going to drink coffee? Or do you want to head onto the buffet table? Look what I got for myself," she perkily said, motioning at her plate. There were assortment of pastries, croissants with different fillings, bacons, a sunny side-up egg, and whole grain cereal. Mulder had to shake his head. When Scully woke him up early in the morning to announce her hunger, he didn't really think she was THIS hungry.

"Will it hurt you so much if I ask you to share your mini-buffet with me?" he tried, stretching to get a hold of one of the inviting croissants.

Scully's eyebrow raised and she playfully swatted his hand away from her food. "Give me a good reason why you can't get your own _first_."

"Well, for ONE," he started in a false mezzo voice, squinting his eyes, and raising his index finger up in the air. He almost knocked the very-ancient-slash-very-expensive looking vase centerpiece, making the Spunk giggle. "You did wake me up EARLY in the morning to profess your hunger. I'm not characteristically THAT hungry, my young crocodile. Well, now that you have presented me with your bountiful goodies, I do feel a slight panging in my stomach -"

"Point, Mulder? I need your point?"

He removed his finger in the air and instead settled it atop her hand. "I'm not AS hungry as you are, and I'm not as perky as you are on lining up with those tourists on the buffet table - I'm not as patient as YOU seem to be with food. And TWO, you have never _fed_ me before, darling." He earnestly hoped that using his term of endearment would earn him some extra brownie points … Well, he needed a lot of brownie points for him to have a very unique and special Scully-feeding. In public, too.  
The infamous eyebrow raised in her own reluctance … cute, yet very discouraging. "Tell me what I have for grabs after I do this _feeding_, Mr. Superman." She licked her lips, twitching one corner of her lip in what he hoped was meant as a seductive smile. Either that, or she was really hungry.

Fuck it all. He was going for broke.

He moved his head closer - close enough to feel the tingle of her breath against his cheek and vice- versa. "Let's say that I want us to ditch the morning plan to visit Friedrich and Janice … I could call them up and tell them that we're planning to see the Riviera … and then we'll make our own Riviera up in our room?" he proposed, his voice lower than lower and he hoped it sounded as sultry as he wanted it to be. For more brownie points, he drew closer and licked her lower lip, tasting the initial sip of her iced tea, and then prodded further until he was granted access to her depths. A moan escaped her and it vibrated through his mouth, making him smile in their kiss.

They released each other, and he caught Scully licking what was left of him around her reddened lips. "God, that had to be one of the worst pick-up lines ever made. I'm gobsmacked. But fine. You are very persuasive, you know that, don't you?"

Of course he did. He would've never met her in the first place if he wasn't. _And by the way, Scully, you love those pick-up lines. _

For his answer, he only opened his mouth. "Show me how much." He just couldn't help that one, even if he knew that it would earn him a dangerous Scully-look.

Nevertheless, he got what he wanted. She asked him to scoot closer to her chair, his back against the unrelenting breakfast crowd, and successfully closer to Scully. While he swirled his spoon around his dark coffee, Scully taste-tested a combination of the "_Croissant et le chois de confiture Francaise_," or more simply put as "Croissant with a choice of French jams." When she found a combination of jams she liked, she lifted it to his mouth. He gladly obliged.

He chewed steadily, tasting the fresh strawberry jam and non-fat butter. She's going for the basics. Not bad.

"Can you believe this bloody cow?! Fresh strawberry jam! It's been a while since I last tasted some!" she excitedly punctuated, at the same time shoving another piece of flaky croissant into his eager mouth. As he chewed, she began to tell stories of her old Welsh breakfast tradition: "I only eat jam and butter splattered on bread back in Wales. I've always thought that eating too much in the morning might affect my dancing afterwards. Jam and butter on bread, plus iced tea. That was my main course every fucking day."

"No wonder you had anemia," he remarked through his cup of coffee. Scully regarded this with a shrug.

"I still _have_ anemia, Mulder."

"Yes, but you are improving. I haven't seen you treat a nosebleed in almost two weeks now. The last time we checked with the doctor, he said your condition is getting better – moreover." Another strawberry-swirled croissant found his mouth, almost muffling his last word. Scully smiled at him, and not resisting herself, pressed a kiss on his cheek.

"That's a big thanks to you … though I'm quite glad that we're over the liver steaks era."

He snickered. "I guess I am too. I did hate it when you asked me to taste the damn thing back in Las Vegas."

"You SHOULD'VE seen your face!" Scully giggled while adding sugar to her cereal. "I swear that you turned a bit green near the gills!"

"I DID not! It was just too damn disgusting! But I DID not turn green - does anyone even turn green? You tell me, you're the one who reads all these medical books!"

His Spunk ignored his last statement and forged on with her annoyance. "Yes YOU did. And a bit flushed that your cooking would taste just as bad!"

"Scully," he warned, waggling both eyebrows. "You know that my cooking's the best of its kind."

"Yes, I know it is." She sighed deeply, chewing on her cereal and he wanted to taste that cereal too, so he moved forward and kissed her.

This was the magic of Paris: no one cared that someone's devouring each other rather than their food in a very public breakfast dining hall. Anyway, they were the ones who invented the tongue-on-tongue technique, right? That's why it WAS called _French kiss_?

Oh shit, who cared? All he cared about was the way Scully's tongue swirled around his and how her cereals tasted. Hmm … pure, sheer delicacy …

"Dad?"

His eyes flew open as that familiar pitch of his name reached his ears. He found himself staring straight at Scully's open irises - equally filled with horror. With one sudden jolt, he removed his lips from Spunk and swirled around - to come face-to-face with Emily, his daughter.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

His expression of utter distress mirrored Emily's haggard appearance. Her lower lip quivered unsteadily, her hands running over and over again through her mop of curly hair. She tried opening her mouth to say something, but she couldn't. Tears began to brim her eyelids.  
Mulder's heart began to pound triple time in his ears. What was Emily doing in Paris? How did she know they were in the Breakfast Hall? Why did they have to kiss in front of the whole population?

Shit shit shit shit shit shit.

He should've told his daughter about this relationship a long time ago. Damn, no, fuck it.

"Emily …" he trailed off, unable to continue with the overlapping emotions inside his gut. His daughter swallowed hard, and began to step away from their table. This alarmed Mulder for no reason at all. He stood up, almost tipping their table upside down.

"Emily, please," he tried again, but to his utter shock, Emily shook her head and began to run away from them.

Dammitt. Dammitt. Dammitt.

Mulder gritted his teeth to stop himself from shouting out his anger, disappointment, stupidity … whatever it was coiling in his heart. He had to run after her. He had to; he couldn't just leave it like this. God damn it, he couldn't …

"Mulder, we -" Scully's voice echoed behind him. He turned around to face his lover, whose eyes were already almost transparent because of her tears. "This is all my fault, I'm sorry … we should've …"

He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "No, Scully, don't blame yourself please. This is my fault," he finished, sadly sagging his shoulders in utter defeat. Something made the range inside of him disappear once he heard Scully's voice. At first he wanted to thump anything that came his way, but upon seeing Scully's equally defeated posture, reason suddenly came to him. Acting irrationally wouldn't fix anything. He had to talk to Emily. His whole life depended on it.

"Scully, I have to go … I should talk to her."

"Go. I'll … I'll be in our room," she answered, and with that, he took no more moment. He just ran fast until everything that surrounded him was a big blur.

* * *

"EMILY! HONEY! STOP!" Mulder pleaded, finally catching up with her outside the hotel's main entrance. Emily was carelessly climbing down the stairs, swiping at her cheeks while the confused porter that lugged all of her bags trailed after her. In his haste to catch up with his daughter, he almost tripped the young man. Mulder didn't even bother to apologize.

He slowed his pace down to stride by her side, wanting with all his will to put a hand on her shoulder - like he would usually do whenever she had problems and she wanted his advice - but knowing that that wasn't the best move at that moment. Instead, he bowed his head down to catch her eyes. But that wasn't going to work either, because Emily was sobbing and her eyes were half-mast.

"Emily, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry … I'm so sorry if you had to find out about me and Scully this way, if you don't approve of what we have … but honey, you h- have to under- understand that she, she's everything I ever wanted … I love her and I couldn … I couldn't leave … honey, listen to me -"

"I thought my marriage wouldn't change anything between us, Dad," she accused, wrestling with her four-inched high heels down the steep steps. Upon reaching the ground, she began to crane her head for a cab, still not looking at him in the eye.

Dammitt. He was not going to allow her to leave until their problem was settled. And he's going to put his foot down on that.

"Nothing changed! Tell me, Em, what DID change?" He took a firm hold of her shoulders and brought her to him. Surprised by this, Emily didn't have time to register his move. But after blinking rapidly, her she peered at him through the slits of her eyes.

"For one, you started keeping secrets from me!"

"No … Em, I did this not because of you or _her_ … but because of what the public might think of us! You - of all people - know about the danger of our situation … why … you - when Scully moved in with us, remember what you told me? About the _rules_?"

"Dad …" Emily's anger softened. And it was replaced with something he didn't expect: understanding. "Didn't you even stop to think about WHAT I THOUGHT? You don't get it do you? I knew that you're oblivious … I thought Dana told you about this before … but … she still has a few years in on you."

It was his turn to be surprised.

His hold on Emily lightened, and she shook herself out of his grip. "I always knew that there was going to be something between you two. I was _hinting_ at it, Dad. Remember the way I told you that you 'kissed and made up?' How I wanted her at the wedding? How … oh fuck, Dad. All I wanted was that I was the first to know about this when it happened." She dug into her bag, rummaged for a while, and found what she was looking for – her handkerchief. The tears that were running down her cheek were wiped away.

Mulder stared at his daughter, dumbstruck. He couldn't feel any stupider than he probably did at that moment.

Was Emily really serious? Did she really want him to have a relationship with Scully?

Was he really THAT stupid?

"I'm your best friend, I should've known about this relationship with Dana … especially now …"

"Hon, I just didn't think you'd care … you had Jeff and the b-" he caught himself before it spilled out of his mouth. Emily's head picked up and their eyes met. The understanding that was evident in her eyes suddenly switched to sadness. Incredible sadness.

She looked away, just about time a taxi stopped in front of them. The driver peered his head out of his cab, looking hopefully at the two. Mulder immediately backed away. If Emily wanted to leave, she could. He's not going to hold her back.

He could always follow her.

"I'm sorry, _man homme,_ but America is crap right now," she told the hopeful young guy, and the man shrugged, driving away and spotting a different customer behind them.

Immediately, Mulder sensed that something was wrong. No, shit, EVERYTHING had to be wrong back home. This little trip just wasn't just a trip for his daughter.

"Emily, what's going on? What are you doing here in Paris? Where's Jeff?"

She raised her face up to the sky, as if invoking the heavens to give her some strength, and then back to him, with a fresh batch of tears doing a sad foxtrot on her cheeks:

"Dad, Jeff and I are going to get a divorce."

* * *

He wished that everything was as simple as it seemed: Emily would take back the last reigning statement she gave him in front of the hotel and tell him, "Belated April Fools, Dad! Of course Jeff and I aren't getting a divorce!" It already seemed simple to him - he just had to be the stupid fool that he was. But no, the thunderbolt struck and it just had to be overly complicated.  
Nothing had ever been damn simple in Mulder's life ever since he found himself staring straight at Mr. Fowley's shotgun twenty-two years ago.

His daughter absentmindedly sipped on her complimentary breakfast coffee, conscious of the four prodding eyes that were staring at her. After a minute, she placed the cup down, sighing deeply and tiredly.

He was also thankful that Emily invited Scully to hear about her problems, too. Mulder knew that his daughter had always trusted the Spunk - probably more than he did during the first months of their relationship. Scully, meanwhile, was relieved that she was being included. It showed Mulder how much Emily understood everything, despite his mistake.

Mulder's eyes immediately connected with Scully's after Emily took a moment to stare at her swirling coffee. His lover was obviously distraught for Emily. He was ,too. When he told himself a few weeks ago that it would be a long time since he'd be seeing the Emily he raised as his own daughter out in the open, he didn't think it would be THIS long. He wished that there was a way for him to eat his own words. He'd do anything, even if his pride had to be stomped down to the muddy ground, just to have his Emily back.

"Jeff … you know, he loves me. I know he does. But after our first trip to the marriage counselor, he wanted to … hasten things up. He wanted us to try for a son again," Emily choked out, shaking her head in tired anger. She placed a hand over her eyes and began to massage her temples. "I didn't have the energy or the emotions to try. I want children, I do … I needed to buy some time for me to accept what had happened. Jeff is a logical man … he could shed some tears and be up and running. I'm not. He couldn't fucking understand that."

A deadly thought came over Mulder. No, it couldn't be possible. "Hon, are you saying … did you ask for the divorce?"

"I can't anymore, Dad. If he couldn't wait for me, then I shouldn't wait for him, either."

A digging pain ran straight through his gut. Shit. There went Emily's dreams of a perfect and wondrous family. Shit. He should've never have promised to himself that he'd never let anything or anyone hurt his daughter. Shit.

"Why … why don't you try to work it out? Jeff loves you so much, Hon, I'm sure he could adjust … this doesn't have to end badly, you know," Mulder advised, glancing weary eyes at Scully, making sure she agreed with what he said.

"I don't want to see anymore, Dad. I'm so tired … I'm so tired of crying, of all the damn drama that I just needed to flee. I remembered you were in Paris, so I followed. I can't take it anymore in the US." Emily looked up from her coffee, casting her gaze at the couple before her. "I'm happy for you two. I wish you would've told me anytime sooner … and I should be mad, but I can't do angry anymore. I need to be happy. You … you are so lucky, Dad, Dana."

Scully nodded slowly, biting her lip and placing her fingers on her golden cross pendant. Mulder sat perfectly still, feeling his body smolder underneath this daughter's gaze.

"This is your vacation, you two. I could leave, you know -"

"No, Emily, this is fine. It'll be lovely to have you around here with us," Scully immediately prepped up, placing a warm hand on Emily's clammy ones. "You could be my company during the Bee Gees' video shoot here with me. Your father is returning to the US, and we could amuse ourselves here in Paris."

Mulder felt teary- eyed with Scully's offer. Whatever in the damn world did he do to the Big Guy for him to have a lover like this? It was as if Scully could read his mind. He needed to buy time back in the US to talk to Jeff, to straighten the kinks out.

Emily's lips twitched at the corners. "I'd love that, Dana." She nonchalantly dropped the teaspoon on the white tablecloth, her eyes bending downward as the flecks of coffee stained the white tablecloth. "I'd love to get a break from everything … I need a de-stressing kit, you know." His daughter almost chuckled at that.

He wished she didn't even start laughing at her own comment.

* * *

_A break from everything. _

Almost ten hours from that particular statement, he found himself drifting in and out of reality as it echoed over and over again in his head. They visited the Riviera, _for real,_ ate at a quaint roadside café near the Eiffel Tower … well, they spent the day like any normal family would.

Ha. Now he's calling the three of them a _family._ Was that a joke? His own family was a poster for dysfunctional. Add a lover who's 20 years his junior, and a daughter who was a year older than that lover … man, he's breaking the record.

_A break from everything._

Even the French seemed confused as the three of them trotted their way around the city. Who was the daughter? Were they twins? How come they didn't look alike? _Scare bleu_! He's a fucking animal!

Who was he kidding? Sure, Emily loved the idea of their relationship - and during their short sightseeing tour, she seemed genuinely delighted to sometimes catch him and Scully holding hands or occasionally hugging each other … but was that enough? Did he really want it to end like that? No, it wouldn't end like that … because his fucking neurosis wouldn't allow it to end like that. Neurosis invited Ego and Pride in and they were having a shitty party in his head.

All his father wanted for him was a normal life. He wished he could've stamped that on his forehead when he had the chance. Before his whole life of 'abnormal circumstances' blew right in front of him. Not that he didn't love Emily or Scully; Jesus, they were his life, but …

"Daddy, this isn't really necessary," Emily's voice broke him out of his nightmare-ish reverie. Mulder's head snapped up to meet his daughter's gaze from the connecting door's frame. Her whole body slackened against one side, eyeing him with curiosity. "Dana could still sleep with you … I mean … umm, I mean that you could still share this room. You could lock this door and I could knock."

"No, it's no bother, Honey," he replied too quickly, shuffling his feet against the lush red carpeting. He was seated on the bed, resting his supposedly tired ass after helping Scully move her belongings to a room on the 4th floor (that's three floors below them, thank you). He wanted a room somewhere near his own, but the hotel was full of reservations. Apparently, half of the world wanted to book a room on the 7th floor.

Scully was surprisingly okay with the whole scenario. She just shrugged with his decision and kissed him on the cheek, never even batting an eyelash.

Mulder stretched his hands over his head as Emily trudged inside _his_ room and sat down beside him on the bed. She crossed her arms and legs simultaneously. "You know what, you haven't really told me about her."

He almost choked on that. Now wasn't really the best time to talk about HER, now that his brain was going haywire. "Wh-What about her?"

"You know, how THIS started … I can't deny that I've been wondering about it ever since you set off with her to Las Vegas-"

"No, it DIDN'T start in Las Vegas."

"- and Dana's pretty … I found it hard for you to resist her … and I've more than hinted at you how much her affection crossed the boundaries of Director-Actress –"

"Em," Mulder cut her off, a small twitching smile finding his lips and stretching his mood into sunnier planes. He hadn't seen Emily this giddy since she told him about her pregnancy, which seemed like ages ago. "Fine, so I'll tell you all the details … just let me finish, okay?"

"Okay, Dad." Emily raised an eyebrow, but brought it down before he could question it.

He sat on the bed Indian-style so that he could look at Emily straight in the eye. A rush of fatherly warmth came over his rib cage when his eyes met hers, and he realized that he missed Emily. He missed her like this, as his best friend, as his most trusted friend. He missed her smiling like the way she was smiling at that very moment, as if a big break from her life was never needed. Sadly, the truth's ugly head had to rear itself: what they were doing together was a break from her life. He wanted his Emily back so badly, he realized, as she braced herself for his story.

Pushing that thought away, he rested a finger on his chin. "I wasn't really conscious of the way we treated each other, you see. We gave each other this immeasurable amount of comfort and I couldn't define it. Until _she_ came to me." Mulder paused, weighing the judging look on Emily's face, but forged on, nevertheless. "They were all dreams of a different Dana Scully. She was so perfect, so beautiful … so serene. I'm not going mental, Honey, but she was there. And she made me open up my feelings for her. One moment I was in the arms of my star … and the next minute, when I woke up from a nap with her … it was different. I felt different."

"So that's why you started … hating her, right?"

"I never hated her, Emily. It was … provoking sanity; denial, trying to paddle my head above the waters. Fear," he concluded, the honesty digging his gut for no reason at all. "She was so hurt. Maybe I AM as thickheaded as you say I am. I was thinking that I didn't want to hurt her but there I was, hurting her.

"Until the day that the shooting wrapped. We decided - no, fuck that, _I_ decided that she'll move out of the house the EXACT date that the shooting ended. She was packing and everything when I realized that I didn't want her to leave—the exact same time she realized that too."

"Wow, cool." Emily laughed, and he ignored that.

"It happened slowly at first … we were standing outside the house and … she kissed me. I don't know why the hell _her_ first, but I have to tell you, that after thinking about it again a few days afterwards … that was pretty stupid of me." Mulder snickered. "And the rest was history. She stayed and I started the first viable relationship of my whole fucking life."

"She really does love you, Dad … it was different, whenever I saw her looking at you."

"Emily," Mulder suddenly toned down, halting his daughter's giddiness. "I want to ask you something … but I hope you wouldn't take it the wrong way."

"What is it, Daddy?"

"I love Dana very much. And eventually … this'll all blow over. The public will know, our relatives will know, your Grandmother will know … and I'll ask her hand for marriage. This is all inevitable," he cleared his throat, "How do you feel about that?"

"Dad, you told me when Dana moved into our house a year ago that there were no rules in on this. And I believed that because I believe in you. I can't tell you that I'm not uncomfortable with the fact that I'll have a stepmother who's younger than me … but I also can't tell you that I'm not happy for you. I am so happy for you. I don't care what they say. As long as it all fits together … at least, something's right in my life."

Hey, look at that. Something's actually right in his daughter's life. And he's the right in her life.

Mulder reached over to caress his daughter's cheek, before kissing her on the forehead. "Thank you, Emily. I missed us so much."

"Yeah, I missed us, too. I miss just being me. Without the baby, without Jeff, without all the chaos. I just do," she answered back, making him pull her into his embrace. She probably would never realize just how sad that sounded, but for now, all Mulder wanted was to erase every damn trace of desperation and death from his daughter's veins within his embrace.

* * *

He couldn't sleep that night.

It wasn't really a matter of not having Scully beside him - well, _fine_, so he had rarely been sleeping alone for the past four months, and yeah, his lover's body heat was something he even dreamed about during work … or if he was given the opportunity to sky dive, her body would still be rattling his brain …

Mulder turned over to his right, glancing at the bedside alarm clock: 2:33 fucking AM. He plopped back to the bed, running his hand through his hair. Goddammitt. Did he have to start counting sheep?

He lifted his head a few centimeters from his pillow, glancing at the half-open connecting door. Emily wouldn't notice it at all. He'd slip back into his room before the crack of dawn.

A smile tumbled out of his lips. Yeah, before the crack of dawn.

Immediately, he pushed the thick covers away, sat up before his mind could rationalize on his decision, slipped his toes into the hotel-freebie slippers, grabbed the hotel-freebie cotton robe, stood up, draped it over his half-naked physique, pocketed the keys to his room, and exited quietly.

Everything was a blur as he silently padded his way towards the elevator, the stealthy silence of the lift's descent zeroing in on his ears, and finally, the much-anticipated "ping!' for the fourth floor. Mulder at once turned to Scully's room.

Once he was in front of the front door, he suddenly hesitated, turning his back against eh door.

God, Scully was going to kick his ass big time for this. It was, what? 2 AM right? She must be sleeping. She had to be. He's the only one who's neurotic in their relationship. She should be in lala land and there he was, standing right outside her door, looking like a nervous, half-naked teenager on his first date -

"Mulder?"

He jumped at the sound of his name.

After a second of calming himself down, he swirled to face his supposedly sleeping Spunk. Apparently, she was more than awake. She had an empty tray tucked under one arm, from the hotel's highly publicized twenty-four hours room service. The Spunk was clad in only a blue silky pajama top, leaving the bottoms somewhere in her closet, which raised an eyebrow of both approval and disapproval from him. Her hair was tousled, lips pale, skin like shimmering satin underneath the hotel's lowered lights. With an amused expression and a grin that she could hardly keep to herself, Scully took two steps forward. "What, pray, are you bloody doin' here?"

Find a good excuse, his mind racked while his will only slightly resisted the urge to bang his head on the opposite wall. Good excuse, good excuse. Dang. Where was that fucking good excuse of his hiding? In his anus?  
Finding nothing to answer her with, he just wrinkled his brow and turned the question against her. "You're wearing practically nothing, darling, and carrying an empty tray of … well, of whatever, and YOU'RE asking me what I AM doing here?"

"I got hungry. I ordered some cakes and tea," she answered casually, while putting the tray down in front of her feet. "If you're _curious_ enough, I answered the room service with my pajama bottoms on. It got pretty uncomfortable while drinking tea so I removed them." As she bent down to straighten the tray up, his eyes trailed on the two open top buttons of her shirt, giving him a delicious view of her cleavage.

Before he had the chance to remove his eyes from her figure, Scully had snapped her body back up, smiling wickedly at his façade. "And what about you? Are you purposely pushing my question aside, Mr. Mulder?" She bit her lip, hopping over the tray to get closer to him.

Man, she was beautiful. Her eye bags were darker than usual, but Christ, she was absolutely gorgeous.

He closed the gap between them, snaking his arms around her waist to press her body flush against him. Scully gasped at his unexpected move, tensing once their bodies met, but instantly melting into his arms once familiarity took over. His mouth found her ear and he pressed a kiss there. A sough escaped his Spunk's throat. "I was missing one of my most prized possessions beside me."

Scully nuzzled his neck, instinctively wrapping her arms around him. Her lips found his and they greeted each other for a while. She broke of the sweet kiss, but their mouths still brushed against each other. While still stealing stray grazes, she whispered, "Isn't that a bit possessive … of you, Mr. Mulder?"

"Do you even care?"

"Not tonight. Just tonight, though. Remember that." She heaved herself out of his arms, making him wince at the loss of contact. Her right hand lingered on his left arm, cascading down until their fingers clasped. "C'mon, I still have a few cakes and black coffee that we could share. They're showing _Moonlighting_ replays - but I've seen them all, anyway."

She beckoned him into her room, both of them skipping over the tray as they entered. He locked the door behind him and stopped a few meters from the entrance to inspect his surroundings. Just as she said, there were half-bitten cakes sprawled before the TV set. A pitcher of black coffee beside a china teacup was also in the repertoire. The faces of Cybill Shepherd and Bruce Willis frolicked on the television. Scully sat down on the bed cross-legged, patting the space beside her for him.

"Why are you awake?" Mulder queried, taking a piece of unfinished strawberry doughnut from the pile and shoving it into his mouth. He sat down beside her, their elbows rubbing with each other. It was the only physical contact they had for the moment, but it gave Mulder all the comfort he needed.

Scully's eyes were trailing from him and back at the Bruce Willis feast adjacent them. "I don't know, really-" she started off uncertainly, and something grabbed Mulder by the neck. He swallowed the piece of doughnut that he bit nervously, feeling whatever that grabbed him tighten around his air passage.

"Scully, did … did you have a nightmare?"

Her face hardened, but she didn't give him an answer.

Jesus, it had been so long since the last nightmare. She fidgeted in her sleep sometimes, but she never was awakened to the point of pure frenzy and tears. He couldn't even count the months anymore since her last one.  
She removed her attention from the television and faced him. Her eyes were darkened by the lack of shadows in the room. For a frightening moment, he was returned to that evening he had buried deep into his memory … that evening she drifted in and out of herself, the evening when she didn't recognize him, the evening that she mistook him for someone else.

Scully must've noticed the change in his mood, and before he even could dispute it, the Spunk reached for the remote control and turned the TV off. She tossed the damn thing on the bedside table and left his side.

She dimmed the overhead lights, afterwards opening the still-untouched covers of the bed. Scully then tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear and motioned to him. "Get in."

Mulder didn't even think of questioning this move of hers. All he did was to stand up, remove his robe, slogged his way towards her, and followed her request.

After he was on the bed, Scully walked to the other side of the king-sized mattress and also climbed in to lie down beside him. She sat up before he could embrace her, propped her back with pillows to elevate herself, and finally opened her arms to him. "Come here," she whispered.

He slid himself to close the boundary between them, and was instantly rewarded by Scully's arms drawing him closer to her body. He rested his head on top of her breast, while his hand snaked around her waist to push her closer to him. She pressed her cheek on the top of his head, and then kissed his forehead.

Abruptly, nothing else existed in the world except for the both of them. Mulder buried his face into her chest, wanting nothing but to lose himself in her warmth. The amount of comfort and stability she presented to him, she made him feel, she gave to him … it was as if she grabbed the spinning top underneath him before it could make him dizzy.

There were many moments he expected himself to feel this way, and most of them was after-sex-cuddling or during drastic moments, but never like this. Just serenity surrounding them, stemming from nowhere … and Mulder knew that he needed this. This was the reason why he couldn't sleep at all. She was what he needed.

"No, Mulder, I didn't get a nightmare. But I believe you had one," she said against his skin, lightly stroking his arm.

_No, Scully_, his mind droned on. _I still am having one._

His heart began to break. For no reason at all, he felt raw and vulnerable. All his frigging walls had tumbled down and here he was, at his weakest. If a fire broke out in the hotel, he'd be too limp to move and the flames would have to consume him. He was exhausted - physically, mentally, emotionally, psychologically. From everything.

_A break from everything._

"What's happening to my life, Scully? Why is this fucking thing happening to me?" Mulder sobbed out, his hands turning clammy. "Who am I kidding? I promised Emily that I would never let anyone or anything hurt her… but I was stupid! I wanted the best for her and here she is, telling me she's getting a divorce. After her baby's death. And I can't do anything about it. I hate this situation. I'm not worthy to be her father."

"Mulder, don't say that," Scully interjected, her ministrations on his arms stopping. "You have given Emily everything you could and she grew up to be a fine woman. You did your very best."

"But it just wasn't enough, God dammitt, it was never enough."

She took a deep breath, as if wanting to say something else, but decided against it. All she did was to coax him to tell her more through her touch.

"You know what she told me? Emily said that she was disappointed when the divorce happened. She made me believe that she was fine with it … but in reality, it KILLED her. What was I thinking? I should've known; I'm her best friend. All my daughter wanted was a perfect family - something that could muster up to her friends' families. That was all she wanted. I treated her like a little adult because she was smart and reasonable, never even regarding the little child inside of her. And that little child's heart I broke." Mulder began to feel the warmth of his tears on Scully's shirt. "Now she's getting her own divorce. Where have I been? I love Emily so much, Scully … she's a perfect little lady and she should have all the blessings in life. I am so lucky to have her and I can't even repay that luck." Now his sobbing was uncontrollable. He pressed his face hard onto her chest.

Scully dropped her hand down to his back to rub his worries away. She allowed him to cry for a few minutes, his anguish echoing around the room painstakingly, and she only allowed herself to listen to his sorrow.

Maybe eons passed, centuries … he couldn't count, because his heart was now pieces of dried blood on the floor. He couldn't stop himself from pouring everything out to her.

"You expected too much from yourself, Mulder," Scully started, squeezing his arm reassuringly. "You were a child yourself when Emily was born. But the fact that you took care of her, loved her beyond reason, you-you would die for her if you were given the choice … that in itself was more than your best, Mulder. You forced yourself to grow up for her. You stayed in a loveless relationship for her … out of a hundred percent, you gave her two hundred. Emily was given to you for a reason… and that reason must be because she deserves all your love. And your love is so beautiful, Mulder. I haven't … I haven't seen anyone love their daughter as much as you d-do." She lifted his hand from her waist and kissed his palm lovingly. "Stop blaming yourself. You should be proud of the fact that Emily is a wonderful young woman today: that she could move on from tragedies and that she could think for herself …. and that she loves you as much as you love her."

Emily loved him as much as he loved her.

Scully's right. He should stop blaming himself, he should stop letting the pieces of his heart fall down on the floor. In contrary, he should help Emily pick up the pieces of her own heart and life from the tiles.

Mulder lifted his head and prepped his chin on her chest. She smiled at him, her blue eyes watery but perfectly transparent. Her hand clutched the side of his head and she wiped his tears away with her thumb.

He captured her hand with his own, and kissed her palm - just as she did a while ago. "Can you tell me again who's forty and who's twenty-one?"

Scully's smile broke into a giggle. He also couldn't help smiling as their lips met for a chaste kiss.

"What will I do without you, Scully? Where would I be if we haven't met?" he wondered aloud, eyes directly trapped by her own.

She sighed, brushing a lock of chocolate brown hair away from his forehead. "Those kinds of questions are not meant to be answered, Mulder."

He wouldn't want to know the answer though, he realized. He wouldn't want to know who he should've been, where he should've been, with who he should've been.

All he ever unconsciously wanted before was now right here, with him. And he vowed then on, as he was starting to fall asleep on Scully's breast while her soft fingers soothed his hair, that he would never ever _find_ out. He'd never ever let her go. Ever.

* * *

His Mom told Mulder before that the morning always brought with it a silver lining. If ever a day went by hand-in-hand with disaster, there's always tomorrow to look forward to. Before you went to sleep that evening, you should go on and congratulate yourself for living through the _disaster_, and sleep for tomorrow's silver lining. Things should get better. You had nowhere else to go from bottom; same as you had nowhere else to go from top.  
This was her advice for him when his Father died. He was just too angry at everything around: at his sister and _even_ at his Mother … so Teena talked him down with a bottle of bourbon and pacified him after Emily had slept. _There's always going to be tomorrow. Sometimes, tomorrow's all you need._

When Mulder woke up the following day still encased within Scully's warmth, something struck him at once: this was his silver lining from yesterday. She was, simply, everything to him. _This is it,_ he thought, his heart pounding in his chest,_ she's it._

Then, when he picked his head up from her shoulder and gazed at his lover's sleeping form, he had all the aphrodisiac he needed for that morning. He SURE loved Paris.

Mulder pressed a kiss on Scully's neck, below her earlobe (one of her more sensitive spots) and watched in fascination as her nipples pushed through her silky nightgown in response.  
He wouldn't mention it to her afterwards, but he was pretty damn sure that Scully was dreaming of him that same moment … probably having a very sexually-charged dream, judging from her reactions. He only hoped that what he planned on doing to her was WAY more interesting than her subconscious.

His lips lapped on her clavicle, which elicited a listless moan from her parted lips. Encouraged, Mulder momentarily disconnected his lips from her skin to sit up and kneel down on the bed. He wanted to love her like she had never been loved before in her life this morning. He wanted her to wake up in the middle of a mind-shattering orgasm and then kiss him ferociously, tasting her fresh essence from his own lips.

Slowly, so that it wouldn't rattle her out of her dream, Mulder began to unbutton her top. He slid each little pearl out of its hole, inch-by-inch bearing the Spunk's nakedness underneath. When he reached the last button, he lifted his hands to allow the fabric to slide down to gravity, bearing pale white flesh, pink aroused peaks of her breasts, and a painstakingly flat stomach.

Mulder licked his lips in anticipation, wanting nothing more but to taste her skin, but knowing that in doing so he'd risk waking her up. And he didn't want that.

He lifted a finger in the air before bringing it down Scully's chest. He fluttered it in between her bosoms, rib cage, dipping it lightly on her navel, and stopping at the garters of her underwear. Goosebumps followed his touch, making Scully bite her lip. The air conditioning unit's cool air swayed through their forms and the smell of his lover's arousal flowed through Mulder's nose, making his groin tighten more in anticipation.

Christ, if he was an asshole, he would've ripped off her panties, straddled her, and began pounding into his beautiful woman without any inhibitions.

He was an asshole, yeah, but he was an asshole who loved this woman way too fucking much. And being THAT asshole - he knew he could make the Junior wait.

Bending down, his lips gingerly clamped down on a nipple. In response, Scully's torso raised from the bed, seeking more contact with his mouth. He smiled and allowed his tongue to join in with his mouth. Soon, he was sucking at her flesh while his other hand worked at the other breast, loving the way Scully melted underneath him. He hoped this was one hell of a dream.

Then she began to say something that almost undid his concentration: "Oh … G … Mul … Mulder …."

He closed his eyes to stop the wave of arousal that struck his spine. He had never heard his name in that tone, that way, ever from her. It was in such bliss, arousal,… and everything else.

Sooner or later, she'd kill him with this.

There was no more time before she woke up, though, so he only allowed himself to place an open mouthed kiss on her other breast and began to trail his tongue down her front. He felt for her bones, wincing slightly when he knew that they protruded too much because of her thinness, dipped his tongue in her navel (which created another hybrid groan of his name), and finally, her sex. Mulder moved himself around so that he could face one of his favorite Scully parts, and when he was finally right in front of her, the smell of her made his erection incredibly painful. He took a moment to loosen his drawstrings before pressing a kiss on her panties.

"Mulde … Mulder … please please please please…"

Ah, the _please_ chant. She did that lately whenever they made love. But rather than motivating him to give her what she wanted, it only made him want to torture her even more.

He fumbled with her underwear for a while, trying to remove them as gently as possible, but finding no way to do so unless he ripped off one side of it. So that's what he did. He could always buy Scully a whole stock back in Los Angeles.

Maybe feeling his actions in her dream, Scully's legs parted in their own accord. Mulder's smile got wider as he appreciated this with a kiss on her auburn curls, before wasting no time and slipping his tongue inside her folds.

Scully's hips ejected from the bed, pushing roughly into his face, his tongue digging deeper inside of her. Mulder clutched at her hips, perching them down, watching as her fingers found the blankets surrounding her body. He needed her to relax, to feel this in her dream … as he needed to slow things down, or else HE would lose control.

She whimpered in her sleep as Mulder began to move his tongue around inside her. He licked at the sides of her organ - welcoming the heat of her own wetness as they came to his mouth, drinking them in, making them his own. He traced the roof of her, making her gasp, until he reached her clit. Then it was a different story.

Scully's eyes flew open and they widened when she saw what he was doing. "Mulder … what … oh god … what …" Coherent speech wasn't hers that moment.

He bit at her engorged bundle of nerves, and Scully's head landed dead on her pillows, her teeth finding her lips once again to bite off an escalating scream. Once he began to suck at her clit, as he did on her breasts - only more forcefully this time. Scully's breathing began to quicken. Her hips buckled once, which signaled to him her incoming orgasm. Inserting a finger inside her canal, he forged on a rhythm of pure ecstasy … and before he knew it, Scully's inner muscles clamped down on that finger and she was shouting his name until her throat probably ached.

He stayed with her as she climbed up, until she calmed down … his teeth still on her clit, his finger still inside of her, riding with her as the tremors died down.

When she came around, Scully boosted her head up to face his mischievous appearance. "Come up here you fucking bastard!"

Mulder kept his smile as he kneeled up, licking his lips to finish off her taste. He didn't find that enough to quench his appetite of her, so he ran his tongue over the traces of her on his finger. He allowed her to watch him do this - watch how much he hungered for her, watch how her watching him affected him.

Scully sat up, took him by the shoulders, and pulled him to her. He landed squarely on top of her, digging his elbows on the spaces beside her body to position himself. Mulder raised an eyebrow at Scully's darkening pools of blue.

"Jesus, you _are_ a bloody fucking bastard."

And his wish came true: Scully kissed him on the lips. Her mouth opened, allowing him his tongue to duel with her own. This duel only lasted a few short moments because Scully began to take over their kiss. Her lips closed in on his tongue and she began to drink his mouth dry of her fluids. Mulder moaned painfully, feeling the bulge in his pants constrict again.

They released, both panting for air. She stole another kiss on his nose before saying, "You are SO dead, Mr. Fox Mulder." She was still light- headed from their kiss, so she slurred that a bit, making the British accent swim in with the threat.

"I'm counting on that, darling," he responded, reaching one hand up to grab her breast. Scully gasped in surprise, their eyes meeting and pulling at each other.

Knocks on the door made both of them freeze in their positions. Now it was Scully's turn to raise an eyebrow in complete annoyance.

"DANA? THIS IS EMILY. ARE YOU AWAKE?"

No more words were needed to be said. Mulder sighed exasperatedly, pressed a kiss on Scully's forehead, and removed himself off her. Scully followed his drill. She buttoned her shirt first before standing up and hunting for her pajama bottoms.

"Yes, I'm awake Emily. Give me a minute, okay?"

"OKAY," came his daughter's reply.

Mulder looked forlornly down at his fast-deflating erection in despair. Scully caught this and moved over to where he was standing.

"We still have many more nights to take care of that … nights, mornings, AND afternoons. Go inside for a shower while I talk to Emily." She kissed him the lips briefly before ushering him into the bathroom. Mulder began to protest, but she silenced him with a swat on his bottom. "Go on. You need to brush your teeth," she wickedly stated, earning her a glare from him. As if she didn't need one, too.

As he was closing the door to the bathroom, he caught Scully taking in one of his after-meal mints, spraying herself with the cucumber cologne he gave her, and hopping into her pajamas. When she had her hand on the doorknob, Mulder closed the bathroom door shut.

He listened for a while in on their conversation with his ear on the wood, not wanting to miss out on _that._

Emily's footsteps echoed in the room. "Good morning, Dana. Dad slept here last night, didn't he?"

Hmm. Straight- forward. His daughter certainly didn't inherit that one from him.

"Yes. He's in the bathroom right now, washing up. What's going on?" Scully asked.

"I think it'll be better that we wait for him. It's pretty important."

Once he heard that, Mulder stopped eavesdropping and started on _washing_ up. He combed his hair, brushed his teeth, washed his face, made sure that Junior was in sleepy-bye-bye-land, and bounded out of the bath.

"Good morning, Honey. What's going on?" he greeted cheerfully, earning him a puzzled look from Scully. Emily didn't seem to mind or she totally ignored it, because she just kept on sipping at her lukewarm black coffee.

"Uncle Walter called early in the morning. He said it was important," Emily responded through her coffee. Mulder nodded, taking his spot on the bed - a few inches from his daughter.

"What did Walter want?"

"You, for starters," she gave him a lopsided grin that, for some weird reason and feeling, reminded him of his own lopsided grins. "He had no choice but to ring me. He said no one was answering in your room. I told him that you were in the bathroom." She raised her eyebrow towards Scully. "Apparently, I was right."

Scully blushed and he smiled nervously.

Fantastic. This was just getting better and better. Where was that silver lining when he needed it again?

"Thank you, Honey." Mulder went up on his feet and kissed the top of Emily's head. "Excuse me, I have to make a phone call." It sounded damn formal that he wanted to smack himself on the head for it.

He moved a few meters towards his lover for a kiss, but her obviously anxious façade did him in. Moving back, he inspected Emily and noticed that his daughter was oblivious to the fact that the lovers were acting as if they were caught by their parents in a particularly interesting rendezvous. She probably inherited that fucking obliviousness from him. _Hah._

Mulder exited the room and took a lungful breath. After that, he began to move to the elevator. Within a passing minute, he found himself inside his room. He was so lost inside his thoughts that he didn't notice where he was absent-mindedly headed. He didn't waste any more minutes as he proceeded to dial Walter's number from memory.

"Hello?" a very familiar gruffness greeted his reeling senses. Mulder sighed first before answering back.

"Hey Walter, it's me. What's going on?"

"What's _going_ on?" Walter receded. For some reason, the Director didn't like the tone of his Producer's voice. There was some sort of hostility topping the edges. "Where did you head off to in the middle of the night?"

"I was …" He caught himself before his barely registering brain could spill out his REAL whereabouts. He was really out of it this morning; after all it's twists and turns. It wasn't doing his psyche any good at all. "… Downstairs, in the lobby. Trying out their complimentary brewed coffee." There, not bad at all. He then again tried to find out what was up, by rephrasing his question: "What do you need from me?"

"We need YOU to come here ASAP. Movie's almost finished. We edited the scenes just as you wanted it … only we need your opinion on this before we finalize it. And something else is … kind of waiting for you when you come home. Something important."

He hated suspense. If there was something that Mr. Fox Mulder couldn't take, it was suspense. It's part of the reason why he never had the tendency to quit. It's because he couldn't wait around for his future when he knew that he could do something about it.

"What is it, Walter? I don't like the tone of your voice."

"I think you better come home and see for yourself. Have a nice trip." His friend hit the plunger before he could even ask again. Walter knew him well enough to know that if the conversation wasn't ended anytime soon, he'd be begging him to tell him what was up in Los Angeles.

In defeat, Mulder placed the phone back to its cradle and rolled his eyes. Not that it mattered, anyway. Disaster followed him like a hawk - whether it's at home or in Paris.

Disaster was also probably waiting for him back at home.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER THIRTY NINE**

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you for all the love and R&amp;Rs! Keep 'em coming as the holidays are shaking!

As for the comment about _Spunk_ being written years ago – yes, that's true. This was originally posted in the yahoogroups called ALL-XF and was then archived in a lot of TXF fanfic sites. However, Iwas _not_ able to finish BOOK II and the previous ten chapters have been unpublished. I just let them sit in my hard drives (at least four of them) for fifteen years. Now, the following chapters AFTER this one are all newly written and have never been published before. I was on a furious writing spree this past summer and I was able to write ten additional new chapters of Spunk. Actually, just two more and the story's done. I always write in advance so that I could edit, edit, edit.

What I'm saying is, go ahead and go crazy about the next couple of chapters. Because for sure, and you have my 100% guarantee, that it will be so damn crazy you might just pull your hair out! *wink, wink*


	43. Chapter Forty: WB Building

This chapter contains not-so-explicit material.

* * *

**CHAPTER FORTY:**

* * *

****

WB Building  
Main Office  
Los Angeles, California  
April 12, 1986  
Saturday

Mulder was not in a good mood.

It started a day, or maybe two – he wasn't sure, with the fucking time difference - when he had to suddenly book an early flight back home. Scully wasn't happy, he could see, but they both had no choice but to give in to separation because whatever Walter needed to tell him seemed pretty urgent _and_ important. Thank God Emily was there in Paris and Scully had someone with her as she waited for the Bee Gees and some of the WB crew to arrive that Monday. And thank God for Janice and Friedrich who promised him they would do everything they could to watch over his two girls. The plan was for them to shoot the music video right then and there so that he could do the editing himself once the film came back with them a week from now.

Not only that, but Emily could also converse in basic French too, so he had nothing to be worried about. Maybe having a friend with her would cheer his daughter up – at least bring back some of that Emily he had known before the shit storm that was now her reality.

So, he struggled a bit with the booking. He had to pull some strings here and there to secure seats. Then, when he arrived at the airport – lo and behold, his flight was delayed for five hours. Scully stayed with him throughout the delay, but he was too pissed off to say anything substantial to her. He only relented up when they were called on for boarding, and he suddenly realized that he wasn't going to see her for a week. He practically inhaled her face when they said goodbye.

As he walked the corridors of the WB, towards the big boss's office, he sighed dejectedly. He couldn't get that last kiss with Scully off of his mind. It was going to be the last of her that he was going to taste for a while.

Then, on the plane, he sat beside an elderly man who snored all throughout the eleven-hour flight. That snore was something he wasn't getting off of his mind easily, too. It sounded like a hyena getting run over by a hippo.

He finally reached the door labeled simply as "CGB" and took a moment to straighten the collar of his shirt and run his fingers through his hair. He grimaced as he felt its coarse texture. He had no choice but to head straight to WB from the airport. It seemed very, very urgent, since the moment he landed and before he could call Scully from a long-distance payphone, his newly-issued beeper vibrated in his pocket. On its tiny screen flashed a message from Walter: "WHERE ARE YOU?"

_Here I am,_ he thought, _fresh from Paris._ He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. He heard Walter's voice say, "Come in!"

When he entered, he was surprised to find not only Walter and their big boss there, but also John. They all looked up at him expectantly and he felt himself shrinking under their intense gazes. In the middle of his two friends was the biggest boss of WB – CGB to most people, but "Chance" to those who knew him well – and he was smoking his usual Morley's as he nodded at Mulder to come and take a seat. CGB had been a sort of mentor for Mulder ever since he started producing for WB. He was the one who trusted Mulder enough to give him a couple of small projects around the lot, and eventually was the one who trusted in him enough to give him a directing debut. Mulder honestly didn't know what CGB found so trustworthy in him – especially when they first met, when Mulder was nothing but a lost cause who partied way too much around the City of Angels – but John had remarked to him once that CGB would affectionately refer to Mulder as his "prodigal son" when he wasn't around.

He wondered what the prodigal son did _now_.

"Take a seat, Fox," Chance invited, taking a long drag of his stick. He stood up and the maroon tie he was wearing momentarily got caught in the mountain of papers on his desk. Smoothly, because _he_ was Chance, the tie was free with a simple wave of his hand and he was stood up to acknowledge his presence, before promptly sitting back down.

Mulder sat on the ready chair in between John and Walter. They weren't looking at him anymore, but he could feel the tension in the air. It was as thick as the stale air in his mouth.

"What's going on?" he said, finding his voice too soft and weak for his liking. He allowed himself to blame the long flight and the fact that he had not yet shampooed his hair for the past twenty-four hours.

Chance tapped his cigarette on a WB-inscribed ash tray and leaned back on his leather chair. "Fox," he started, his voice even and tonic, but Mulder still couldn't help wincing at the sound of his first name. In all of WB, it was only Chance who could get away with calling him his first name without a punch to the kisser. "There are a few things that came to our attention when you left for Paris just last week."

Mulder was cautious now. The tension that was present in the air felt like it was about to descend like a plane crash on him. Beside him, both Walter and John shifted uneasily in their seats. Was he supposed to say something? Mulder wanted to release the button chokehold of his shirt, but decided against it. He should say something.

"What _things_?" There, he said something. It's their turn now.

Surprisingly, it was Walter who spoke next. He passed a manila envelope to Mulder (something he didn't notice when he first walked in – was Walter now a magician?) and pointed at it once it was being opened.

"Mulder, those are photographs that were taken by the paparazzi just outside the Los Angeles General Hospital. They have these high-precision lenses now and they took photos of you and Dana …"

They seemed about ready to spontaneously combust in his hands, these photographs. They were all black and white but clear as day: him and Scully on that bench, sitting, talking, guarded against each other. Then, him and Scully leaning against each other. Until the last remaining batch of the photos are second-by-second snapshots of him leaning in for a kiss and her reciprocating eagerly – more than a sort-of-manager would. It ended with them going back to the hospital hand-in-hand and with him carrying his overnight bag.  
Fuck. Define shit storm please? Yes, Fox Mulder, noun. Got it.

He ignored the way John cleared his throat. He went straight for the kill.

"Chance, I can explain," he responded, his voice lower than intended. Chance crushed his cigarette into the ash tray and smiled at him. Was it a sad smile or an amused one? God, he couldn't know now – not when the photos in his hands felt like they were about hundred degrees Celsius!

"Fox," Chance placed extra emphasis on the _x_ of his name, "it's okay … you don't really need to explain to me. Walter and John have already self-appointed themselves as your lawyers."

Shocked, he looked at his two companions – first at Walter, who was looking down at the photographs and missing his eye, then at John, who was looking straight at him and offered him a small smile of encouragement. Suddenly, the photographs in his hands didn't feel as warm anymore.

"I know _you, _Fox. I know you love this girl. You wouldn't fuck anybody for fun or just because you're the director of her movie. No, I know you. You stayed in that marriage looooong enough." Chance leaned forward, his hands intertwined before him. "I'm calling you in not because I want you to stop this relationship; I'm calling you in because you need to explain to _them_."

"Them? Them who?"

It was John who spoke. "Mulder, WB has paid a substantial amount for the photos to _not_ be published. For now. We're concerned that it may hurt the publicity of the movie."

"I know that," Mulder gathered the photos together and placed them back inside the envelope, "That's why Scully and I decided to keep it a secret. We _tried_ to fight it," he added, as a way of explaining to the two men beside him why they never knew about it, "but we couldn't. She's everything to me." He straightened up and took a deep breath. "But so is the movie. What can I do?"

Chance brushed a strand of white hair from his eyes and pursed his nicotine-stained lips towards him. "Not only what _you_ can do, Fox. What both of you can do: set a date for a press conference. The media has always been enamored of you and there's no way they would pass this up. I'm sure you'd charm them somehow and the idea of an up-and-coming actress and a director who has been single since his divorce a few years ago will make endearing news. The press conference has to be ASAP, Fox. We can't stall anymore. The movie's 99% done and we don't want any hitches when it premieres next month."

Mulder froze. What _both_ of them could do? Scully had never spoken in public before – she had never attended a press conference, let alone been in one where she was the hot topic. She had that interview in Entertainment Weekly (which didn't really go that well) and other small tidbits that followed, but nothing _this _public or major. She was going to freak out, he knew it. No, he was going to freak out at the thought of her freaking out. He couldn't subject Scully to the media this early – those people could be vultures. They would eat her alive.

"Chance, let me do this on my own. I'll pay the paparazzi …"

"National Enquirer," Walter supplied for him.

"The National Enquirer – those sons-of-bitches – whatever amount it takes. I'll do the press conference myself. Leave Scully out of this. She's new; she wouldn't be able to handle the media."

Chance sighed, long and deep. Mulder swallowed. That wasn't a good sign.

"Mulder," and with that, he knew that _the_ CGB meant every single thing he was about to say, "I support you on this new relationship. Actually, I'm happy for you. However, this is still _our_ movie and _our_ movie is top priority. Unless you want Kryceck to beat you at that," Chance let that dangle in the air for a moment, "but my only ultimatum is that you two face the media together in a press conference ASAP. If she won't be fine, then you'll have to _make_ her fine."

"We're thinking that it may also help the movie's publicity," Walter once again interjected, and Mulder's eyes widened.

"I don't want my personal life …"

"It already _is_ part of it. When you entered a relationship with Ms. Scully, you _knew_ that whatever happens, as long as the movie has not been released, your personal life would be intertwined with everything that's about the movie." Chance smirked, not unkindly, Mulder took note. "That's what you have to do. That's all. I don't care if you want to pay the Enquirer to stall for another week until Ms. Scully finishes shooting the MTV. I only care that you _do_ the presscon and that you do it _together_." There were emphasis on words that Mulder didn't like, but he had no choice but to nod. They were actually giving him a lot of leeway on this matter – it wasn't the shit storm he made it out to be, but it was still a storm. Maybe of a different kind, but still a storm nonetheless. He couldn't get the mental image of Scully staring at a room full of media people in a deer-caught-in-the-headlights sort of way.

"Okay, Chance," he gave in, knowing he had no choice. He was the deer-caught-in-the-headlights this time and he wanted to live another day to sort this storm out. "I'll talk to Scully tonight. I'll tell her everything."

The corners of Chance's lips turned up into what Mulder could read as a satisfied smile. But then, it didn't stop there. "Fox, there's something else." The smile was gone.

Was the shit returning? "What is it?"

John placed a tentative hand on his arm and it took all of Mulder's willpower to not jerk out of it. He didn't like where this conversation was going.

"Mulder, we received some news a day ago from Chicago …"

"Chicago? Who's in Chicago?"

"Mulder," John said, firmly now. Mulder directed his attention to his friend and they stared at each other eye-to-eye. This was John, his best friend since university, and for the first time in their damn history together, he couldn't read the expression on his face. He had never seen that expression on his face before, ever.

"Samantha's in Chicago. She's dying."

Mulder opened his mouth to say something.

Nothing came out. It was as if everything within him was vacuumed into his gut and nothing, not even breathing, could get it out.

"She's dying of complications related to AIDS," Walter now continued somewhere behind his head. "She's been in the intensive unit since last week. She listed you as next-of-kin and the staff there said … it doesn't seem good. They're giving her less than two weeks."

Mulder wanted to double over. No, he wanted to cry out in joy – in pain, something, _something_. But still, nothing came out. He felt that his gut was sucking him out of the world.

Chance eyed him with what seemed like concern. "We're sorry, Fox. The WB can prepare everything for you if you wish to go to Chicago. We'll also pick up your mother and daughter for you."

That was when he was able to speak, but it sounded out like fluctuating gasps. "E- Emily's in Paris. She followed soon after." He took a deeper breath to calm himself, then directed the next question to John. "H-how did, did this happen?"

"Drugs," John concluded, his hand still on Mulder's arm. "That's the only thing the hospital could offer."

And here he was, Fox Mulder in his most awaited scene for his own personal movie. How long had he dreamed of this moment? How long had he prayed this moment to a god he didn't even have a name for? How long did he talk about this moment with Byers, especially when his father's death would sting every now and then? How long did it take for this scene to be produced, filmed, cut, edited, and delivered?

How come that now it was in front of him, he didn't feel satisfied? How come he couldn't _feel_ anything?

Mulder feared that his lack of reaction might frighten the gentlemen in front of him, so he slowly put his face into his hands to hide.

* * *

In twenty-four hours, Scully would be home. And he had not told her a single thing.

Before him, Teena sat on his couch, exhausted. She hadn't done anything else but stare at blank patterns inside the Mulder Manor since he delivered the news to her a few days ago. Getting her to Los Angeles was a bit of an effort: spring break was ending and there were a lot of drunk and wasted teenagers shuttling back and forth states. When she finally was able to board a flight to LA, Teena was almost ready to collapse. She wouldn't cry – no matter how hard Mulder embraced her in the airport and soothed her with, "I'm sorry, I know she means a lot to you, we'll get to Chicago as soon as the WB could arrange flights" – and she still stayed stoic, with an unreadable expression on her face.  
Now three hours later, he unintentionally spilled out to her all the shit storm he was in: Emily's impending divorce, his relationship with Scully (yes, _the_ relationship – at least that made her smile a little), what vague facts he knew about Samantha's condition and the she refused to talk to any of them on the phone, the upcoming press conference that Scully still didn't know about, the movie – yes, all that shit.

Teena accepted all he had to say without giving into his self-deprecating mood swings. One minute, he'd be laughing when he recounted how Scully twirled underneath the Eiffel Tower; the next, he'd be choking down the sobs as he thought of his beautiful little Emily and her dead baby. Now, at the third hour, Teena began to insist that he call Scully up in France and tell her what she was about to expect when she came back to LA. Thirty minutes into the third hour, they were only able to call Emily and inform her that they were waiting for her to see Samantha. Emily ended the phone call with a sob that went straight to Mulder's already-tattered gut. By the end of the third hour, Teena was at the end of her patience too. She threw her son dirty looks every now and then whenever he cracked a sunflower seed in his mouth. He was stalling, he knew it and she knew it, and she hated him for it. Especially with the shit storm they were in.

"Eleven hours, Fox," she tensely raised in the air, tapping her white hand on the upholstery, "Eleven hours and forty minutes."

"In those eleven hours, Scully could go from I'll-be-fine to I'm-not-okay to I'm-going-to-fucking-jump-out-of-this-plane." Another crack; another seed. "I know her, Mom. It is better she does not know until I see her face to face."

"Emily's there to help her."

Mulder wanted to slam his fist into the tray of sunflower seeds, but stopped himself before he could. _Not now. Easy, easy, eaaasy._ "Mom, Emily needs help herself."

"You need help."

"You do, too," he picked up a seed and rolled it around his thumb and forefinger. "We fucking need help in this family from a psychologist because damn it, I couldn't even use my degree when I need it the most!"

Teena closed her eyes. She talked while keeping them still, her eyelashes brushing delicately against her cheeks. "Fox, you have to trust Dana. You have to trust that she's old enough to handle the situation you're facing with the media and that she's old enough to know what she wants to do. You can't keep protecting her." She rubbed her temples, eyes still closed; rubbing at that delicate spot on the tip of her nose bridge.

"At this point in my life, she's the only one I _could_ protect." He winced at how sad that sounded, but now that it was out there, he couldn't take it back. That was the problem: Samantha was dying and he couldn't do anything about it because now that he wanted to help her, he couldn't. He should've helped her before, but he didn't. Emily was in so much pain and he couldn't do anything about it too because this was her life now and she had to fix or leave her marriage on her own. Teena was in pain for a daughter she gave birth to but never really had bonded with and he couldn't do anything about it because she loved Samantha despite it all.

Scully … Scully, he could still protect. Scully, he could still keep away from the storm. Scully was the only thing perfect in his life right now. He wanted to keep it that way. Somehow.

Teena opened her eyes, the green in them suddenly vibrant, and faced him. "Look at it this way, Fox: do you think if Dana found out about the paparazzi AFTER she arrives from Paris that she'd be happy with you? You think she would still want to be PROTECTED?" Teena almost spit the last word out. "I doubt if she'd talk to you for days. And you know that you need to set the press conference at once."

Mulder groaned. Mothers truly knew best. They knew just where to pinch him and hurt him just enough to make him learn.

"Mom …"

She knew she had won. A tiny smile danced on her lips for the first time in three hours since they've been together that day. "Pick up the phone, Fox. Before they leave the hotel." She pointed at the phone at the far end of the room. Mulder grabbed one last seed, cracked it in his mouth, and spitted out the husks on the floor (somewhere he didn't look at) only to annoy Teena. He didn't wait for her reaction, only heard her mechanical _harrumph_ that made him wonder if she was only doing it so that he could feel vindicated.

He called the operator, recited the hotel's number from memory, and waited anxiously for Scully to pick up the phone.

A few seconds, maybe lifetimes later, he heard a sharp _click_ and her breath came through the receiver before her breathy, "Hello? Mulder?"

He smiled despite himself. He loved it that she recognized that it was him before he even made a sound. Then again, he was the only person who would ever call her in Paris at this hour. "Darling, you sound breathless. What's happening there?"

"Oh, do I? That's because its 1 AM here right now, Mulder. Our flight's at 6, I've barely packed our things, and here you go calling me up again …"

"Am I being a bother?"

"No," she responded too quickly, and it melted the anxiety that he had been holding inside of him away. "No, of course not. I miss you," she whispered, and his insides unraveled like a yarn that jumped out of a kitten's paws. "I really needed to hear your voice right now, especially right now. I'm knackered silly here."

He let a moment of silence pass between them. If he acknowledged how much he missed her, he could never get to what he truly needed to say, so he allowed his silence to tell her what he needed to.

Mulder thought about their last conversation, which was at least five hours ago, and the hours that needed to pass before he would be able to put his arms around her and bruise her lips with a kiss. Too long; time apart is always too long when it came to her.

"How's Emily doing?" he softly said into the speaker, clearing his throat so that she didn't hear the thickness of his voice.

Scully sighed. "We've talked a bit and she's calm. She's having some wine right now by the balcony and I've let her do that. Yes, wine at 1 AM. I told her that I would be the one to pack our things and she really appreciated it." Another deeper sigh. "She needs her space, Superman."

_Don't we all_, his fogged up brain cackled, and he shut his eyes to shut it down too. "Look, Scully, there's something I need to tell you …"

She immediately noted the change of his tone. "Do I need to sit down?" she asked.

"Yes."

He heard something shuffle from the other end of the line, before she returned to the speaker with another breathless, "What is it?"

"Remember when we were at the LA General Hospital sometime ago and we had that fight?"

"Yes, I remember. Byers had asked me to bring you your overnight bag and we talked outside the garden because that was the only place I could keep a conversation without, umm, freaking out."

Mulder twirled the telephone chord in his finger and thought about chewing on it too, but then thought that he was now being incredibly Freudian. "Yeah, yeah, that time. Scully, we were not alone that time." He took a deep breath. "There were some paparazzi with this new high-precision lenses that captured our every move – our kiss – from a considerable distance away. I've seen the photos –"

"Oh," she cut in, and he was surprised that it was steady, "Are they publishing them?"

"No, not yet. The WB paid a small amount to keep them from publishing the photos. But they've talked to me some, umm, time ago and they're asking for something … something I'm not sure you're ready to give."

"What is that?"

"They want a press conference ASAP from us to announce to the media that we're … dating. The media has gotten a whiff of this and I've received offers for us to do a magazine cover for People. But we have to set the press conference date soon."

"Mulder …"

"I did everything I could, Scully. I swear I did. I-I stalled them for another week after you've come back so that you could get settled first and then we can talk about this once you're here. I'm sorry, Scully. I'm really sorry. This should've have had happened. I should've been more careful."

"Mulder," sharper this time, but still gentle, "listen to me: it is fine. It's all right. Stop saying _I_ because you are not the only one in this relationship. This is _our_ relationship. If we were careless that day, then it is both our responsibilities. And as it is our responsibility, our relationship, we are the only ones who could fix it. Together."

Mulder felt, for the first time in a week, that he could freely breathe. And he did breathe loud, hard, almost like a gasp – a choke, and he didn't care if she heard it and he didn't care if his mother heard it, for it meant that everything was going to be all right. Everything would be fine. Thanks to her; as always, thanks to her.

"Scully, I don't know what I did to deserve you," he confessed and his voice hitched and again, he didn't care. "But goddamn it, I'll make it worth your while."

"Oh, Mulder," she trailed off before clearing her throat. He understood. It wasn't the time to whisper sweet nothings to each other – no, not when his mother was staring at him with an expectant face, not when his daughter was drinking wine at 1 AM on a Parisian balcony, not when Scully still had to pack for their 6 AM flight back to LA. No, there would be time for that. Lots of time later on. "You set the press conference next week on a Saturday. I'm coming with you to Chicago."

He wanted to protest or argue, just like what they did back then when she was Spunk and he was a _chocoholic_ knocking at her door before midnight, but he didn't. She was a part of his life now, a part of his family, and if she wanted to be there to see him talk to Samantha for the last time, then so be it. He _needed_ her to be there.

"Okay, darling. God, CGB will be so fucking happy about this. Thank you, Scully. Thank you."

He could hear her smile. "I love you," and he could hear her keep the smile even as she whispered those words.

"I love you, too. I'll see you in a couple of hours. And don't forget to call me from the airport." Before he hung up, though, he added: "Please, please take care of Emily."

She was still smiling: "I will. I'll see you soon."

They hung up at the same time and again he took a deep breath. Finally, finally, everything was falling into place and as always it was because of her.

* * *

They were shy with each other at the airport. In Mulder's head, he wanted nothing but to sweep Scully up in his arms and kiss her deeply, longingly, inside the First Class VIP lounge. However, he was only able to give her a small kiss on her cheek and a kind-of tight hug as he bent down to take her hand-carried luggage. When they parted, Scully's smile told him that she understood. Then, he reached over behind her to hug his daughter.  
Now that they both were aware of the impending public knowledge of their relationship, they were unwilling to give the paparazzi what they wanted the most at this point. It was a tense standoff: the media awaited the date of the press conference and those photographs were but a few thousand dollars away from being published. Money wasn't an issue, really; he was more concerned about the redheaded Spunk who walked a few steps behind him as they went straight to his car in the parking lot. Emily was walking in his stride, so Mulder placed a hand around her shoulders and hoped that Scully could keep up with their pace.

At home, Jenny prepared a lovely dinner for the whole gang. It was rare for Jenny to cook for this much people (if Mulder had any visitors, he usually gave them an impromptu tour of the best restaurants around LA) and his helper was showing off. They had thick, buttery steaks, roasted corn on the cob, some fancy-shmancy salad that tasted so good but couldn't – for the life of him – remember the name of, chilled white wine, a tropical fruit shake for Emily (who was not in the mood for wine), and home-baked truffle chocolate cake slices for dessert.

His family reached the unspoken consensus to not speak about Samantha and other issues while eating. Instead, they spoke about Paris, the MTV, the magnificent dinner, Danced Yesterday … anything, except what awaited them tomorrow. Scully, in particular, squirmed more than once in her seat whenever Teena would address her as, "darling Dana" or joke with questions like "what did you see in my son, anyway?" with a small laugh. When his mom was about to make another comment about how Mulder didn't know how to throw his boxers inside the hamper, he raised his eyebrow as high as he could and made sure that Teena got the point to shut up. He could feel the heat of Scully's blush even if she was a seat away.

After dinner, Emily retreated back into her old room and kissed him good night, telling him she was exhausted from the long flight and wanted to get ready for Chicago the next day. He watched her amble up the stairs tiredly and he shared a look with Scully, who he saw was also watching Emily. From her eyes, he read Scully telling him that Emily's fine, but when her mouth twitched, he saw that she wasn't so sure about that either. His mother stayed in Scully's old room and she remarked about how organized the room was. With a wink, she added that she was just what Mulder needed in his messy Manor. Again, Scully blushed ferociously.

After Mulder finished some phone calls to the WB about the limo that was picking them up tomorrow for the airport and their hotel arrangements in Chicago, they were alone (at last) in their room. He entered the master's bedroom and found Scully already dressed in her violet silky pajamas. She was sitting on their bed, reading a medical book he bought her a few months ago.

"Hey," he greeted her, shutting the door behind him with a click and feeling a wave of relief at the thought of _finally_ being alone with his girl.

"Hello," she answered back, pushing away wild strands of red tendrils from her face and giving him that lilies and carnations grin. Somewhere inside him, random places – he believed his heart and groin – throbbed.

He started stripping off his shirt and shorts until he was only wearing his boxers. Scully went back to her reading, and he wondered what was so fascinating about that medical book.

"What's that there?" He stretched his arms above him and felt some bones creak. God, it had been a long day.

"I'm reading up on AIDS and some new researches published about it." Mulder nodded, didn't say anything because he didn't want to talk about Samantha yet, and waited for Scully to close the book and place it at her bedside. When she did, she dimmed the night lamp, turned to him, then motioned for him to come to her by patting the empty space beside her. Mulder complied and sat down near her. Their shoulders touched.

This was different. Before, the first time they were separated for a week, they had devoured each other and erased the days apart with their bodies. That was when they were alone in their own world; when they were the only ones who knew. Now, it seemed as if the whole world knew or was about to know and it was strange … discomforting. Their relationship was never meant for public consumption; sure, eventually they had to _tell_ someone, but not like this, not this way.

Mulder made the first move. "Does it bother you that we're sleeping together tonight and my Mom's just a few steps away?" He nudged her with his shoulder.

Scully chuckled. "A bit. She's like you in a lot of ways. She couldn't …"

"Quit?"

"Yes," she breathed out, relieved that he said the word for her, "she couldn't. But she's taking this quite well. I'm surprised."

"She likes you. She's liked you ever since. You get to be called 'darling.' Most of my girlfriends didn't make it beyond 'your friend.'" This time, they both laughed. Then, gingerly, easily, as if he would break, Scully reached over and wrapped him in her arms.

He didn't protest and how could he? When she was running her fingers through his hair in that unique way he liked; when she was kissing his eyes, cheeks, nose, and then his mouth; when he opened his lips and found her tongue prodding in – wet, hot, familiar; when she whimpered into his breath as he popped a button of her pajama top open and found a nipple.

He missed this, missed her, and at the back of his head, he vaguely wondered when he could stop missing her. Would he ever get used to the distances they would have to endure as their respective careers picked up? Would he ever stop feeling as if he was about to go insane with longing when she wasn't around? Would he ever stop the way he unabashedly showed her his need, just like now in their bed, as he stripped her naked and ran his tongue on each corner of her body – making sure he tasted every single spot he hadn't for over a week, making sure that he covered all bases, making sure to brand her with his soul?

He missed the way her hips arched when his tongue met her sex, when he prodded into her the same way her tongue had prodded into his mouth a while ago. He missed the way she gripped the bed sheets until her knuckles turned white as he inserted one finger into her and looked for that padded area that would send her easily off the ground. He missed her orgasm – damn, he missed this the most – when she almost screamed but held off with a palm to her mouth because she remembered his mother was only a few steps away from their room.

Mulder flew up from between her legs and faced her, angling his body so that he was poised to enter. He was so ready for her – his cock felt painful, hot, uneasy, everything – and he wanted nothing more but to be granted permission.

She was still breathless, but she smiled when their eyes met. Scully opened her legs further until the back of her thighs met the cushion (yes, she was _that_ flexible) and without any word, Mulder filled her. They both gasped, and yes, they both missed this so much. He grunted as he moved.

Scully held his head in place as he thrust into her, holding his eyes with her own. He felt her legs coming up to his arms and he momentarily lifted himself up from the cushion so that she draped her legs on his shoulders. Now, she felt tighter, hotter, wetter, and he wanted to scream her name out loud – to declare to the heavens how good this felt, how he wanted nothing more but to do this with her for the rest of his life – but he kept her gaze at her. She held him steady, smiled at him, as if she understood. It was that same small smile he heard in her voice on the phone a few hours ago, that same smile in the airport, and now in their bed. As if she knew what he wanted to say all along and he didn't need to tell her twice.

He was close now, so close, especially when her hips began to thrust upward to meet his own. Her eyes rolled back into her head, but she tried to still maintain his gaze. She was close, he was close, and he whispered "I love you" to her and she whispered it back. That was their undoing. With long moans coming from both their throats, they lost it: Scully's walls quivered around his cock and his shook back, spilling everything – every single shit storm he had been facing the past week – into her until he was spent, sated, nothing.

He dropped to his forehead atop her. He tried to move away to give her some breathing space, but she held him there by kneading his back with her small fingers. Mulder sighed and closed his eyes.

"If you need more money to pay the National Enquirer, Mulder, there's money in your account that you could use."

This caught him off guard. If he wasn't so tired, he would've reacted more than just lifting his head from the mattress to stare at her clear blue eyes. "The monthly deposits of $5,000? I couldn't use that. We couldn't even trace where it comes from until now. That's why I kept it in a separate account." He kissed her swollen lips and they both stifled a groan when they felt his soft penis involuntarily roll out of her. "Money's not an issue, Scully. You know that. I have more than enough to keep them silent for the time being."

"No," she insisted, her voice becoming tinier. The hands that were massaging his back continued on, but more erratically, as if she couldn't figure out the pattern she needed to ease him through their conversation. "I insist that you use those monthly deposits."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Scully?"

She blinked, tried to avert her eyes away from him, but now it was his turn to hold her head in place. He gently dug his fingers into her soft hair and steadied her gaze. Scully breathed in, which he felt against his chest, and resigned to stare up at him.

"That's, that's my family's money. Before I left for Wales, Melissa made me swear on my mother's grave th-that I would write her every month so that she'd know I was safe. I gave them details about you and they were able to find out where to send the money secretly. I don't know how they did it and why they still are doing it … but I think they've been paying for my board and lodging or something like that." She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I should've told you sooner."

It made sense now: why she kept writing those letters and why she never received any reply. Those were purely for transaction purposes; they get the letters to tell them where she was and how she was doing, while they replied monetarily.

Mulder grimaced. That was pretty cold, even for Scully's family.

"Please, don't be angry," she whispered, almost like a little child – not even Scully-girl – and it broke Mulder's heart. Reflexively, he pressed his lips against hers. He licked the quiver on her lower lip as they parted.

"I'm not angry, Scully. I'm angry at _them_. You write these, these personal letters every month to your sister and you never receive a reply from them. Then, they send you these cash deposits through _my_ account as if it could make up what they could never write back to you." He wondered, though, if the letters were really personal for he had never attempted to read any of them. He had seen Scully writing them and she hadn't been trying to hide their contents from him, but he thought that it was too much of a stretch to invade her personal space just like that. There were things in Scully's past that she obviously wasn't ready to talk about and he wanted Scully, not him, to start that conversation.

"They have their ways. I'm just glad they are okay. I'll be worried if they stop sending those cash deposits." She stopped kneading his back and with a small push, he found himself beside her. He gathered her into his arms so that they were face-to-face. He rested his hand on her lower back and kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger there. She kissed the part she could reach – which was his clavicle – and spoke through his skin. "You are not mad?"

"No, of course not. Surprised, yes. Not mad." Her breathing was starting to even out and he was about to drift off to sleep in a few minutes, but he ended their conversation with one last thing: "When we get back from Chicago, I'm transferring all that money into your own bank account. I don't need that money, Scully. Though if they find out that I'm fucking you, that maybe useful in bailing them out of jail because, man, they'd surely kill me."

He felt her flinch against his skin, so slightly that he could've missed it, and then she laughed. It sounded a bit too forced, but again, he was sleepy and he wasn't rational enough to digress that. Soon, they were gone and he was left with dreams of a dancing Scully in an empty press conference, five thousand dollars in her hand, and him, helpless and watching her make a fool of herself as she danced while pretending that the money was a living, breathing partner.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER FORTY**

* * *

**A/N: **Advanced happy holidays to you too, dear readers!


	44. Chapter Forty One: Cook County

**CHAPTER FORTY ONE:**

* * *

Hospital of Cook County  
Chicago, Illinois  
April 21, 1986  
Monday

_ "Fox!" _

Mulder was a few feet away from Samantha's deathbed, and he could hear her eight-year-old voice clearly in his head as if it was just yesterday when she had ran to him from outside of Martha's Vineyard and straight into his arms, shaking.

_"Fox!" _she had screamed back then. They were playing a game of Stratego when all the lights went out - their whole neighborhood blew a fuse. It was raining and their parents were not at home; Mulder was in charge because he was 'big brother,' and Samantha had no choice but to follow whatever order he barked at her. Since their parents were not there to regulate them, they broke a few rules: opened the TV to a western movie that Samantha liked; played a board game on the floor while eating pizza; drank coke.  
When they were coated in darkness, Mulder lifted his head up to look outside the house. He saw some stray lights from the window and presumed that these were cars passing by. Samantha, ever bullheaded and maybe a lot like him, defiantly stood up and said she would check what was going on _outside_. Mulder tried to stop her, but remembering the feel of her thumps and bites when she broke her ankle on that hiking trip in Rhode Island, he let her go. After a few minutes, she came back running in the house visibly scared. She flew into his arms and he held her as she cried hard. He never knew what she saw outside and he would never find out – he could accept that now, as he looked at her through the clear window of the hospital's hallway – but that was a moment that he wanted to keep in his heart. It was probably the only moment in his life that he truly felt he was a big brother to his baby sister.

In hindsight, it all seemed senseless: his anger for Samantha, the way he kept her out of their lives, Emily crying at her aunt's bedside, Teena holding her daughter's painfully thin hands in her own. Even his father's death. It all seemed senseless, as he watched his sister's labored breathing and forced smiles. She had thinned drastically, compared to the last time he saw her during his grandson's funeral. Her eyes were gaunt; the hazel in them seemed dark and dank, as if her irises needed a light to be flicked within. Her cheeks had sunk into her face and he shuddered at the thought of her pain as she tried to still converse with his daughter. But what frightened him the most was the angry red, maroon, and brown welts on her neck that were now even worse than they had been when he first noticed them in New Mexico.

New Mexico. Mulder wanted to smack himself. She was reaching out to him … not for anything else, but because she was _dying_.

He felt his knees give out on him and he fumbled for a chair behind until he was able to sit down. Jesus Christ.

At once, she was right beside him. Scully dropped to her knees and he spread his legs wider to accommodate her petite body in between. Instinctively, as if she had been doing it for the rest of her life, she cradled his face in her hands and ran her thumbs on his lips. He still looked down, not ready to meet her eyes and let her see how vulnerable the situation was making him.

"Mulder? Are you all right?" she whispered softly. He could feel her breath against his cheeks and it washed away some of the trepidation.

He wasn't fine, of course. They both knew that. But it was great to hear her ask him.

Mulder tore his eyes away from his rubber shoes and met Scully's eyes with his own. "Could you come with me … inside … Samantha needs to meet … will you be fine?" His tongue felt like molasses and he thanked his unknown god that Scully understood him despite of.

"Of course, I'll come with you." She kissed his nose, his cheek, then his eyes. With one jerk, they were both up on their feet and instinctively again, as if they had been together in lifetimes before this one, their palms met and their fingers interlaced with one another. From her heat, he drew strength he needed to make the final steps into his sister's room.

Samantha barely registered that he was there. Teena and Emily did, and they respectfully gathered themselves and moved away. When Teena's hand carefully left Samantha's, his sister raised her head from the pillow to see what was going on. Her tired eyes saw Mulder, making the corners of her lips form a smile, then saw Scully. To the redheaded dancer, she provided an appreciative nod.

Before she left, Emily whispered something into Scully's ear with a hiccup. At his peripheral, he could see Scully shaking her head and softly telling Emily that, "I'm staying with your father."

Despite her assertion, Scully released his hand when they were all alone with Samantha. She stood away from him at the other end of the room, resting her back on the cold white walls of the room, and it was obvious that she was giving him and his sister a respectful distance. This was a conversation he had to make alone.

Mulder sat down on the chair his mother was previously sitting on and placed his hands on his lap, unsure of what to do with them. He didn't want to hold Samantha's hand – that seemed too sudden, as if he was pulling all stops to give her one last pity party before she died. Before him, Samantha wasn't expecting anything either. She gave him one quick grin that further stretched the taunt skin on her cheeks and closed her eyes. He took it as a cue for him to start speaking.  
"Sam, you don't have to say anything. I know you're tired, very tired. And I think it is high time that I say something that I should've said a long time ago," he took a deep breath and crossed his arms, feeling vulnerable all of the sudden, "I'm sorry, so fucking sorry, if I was never a big brother to you. I'm sorry if I pushed you away all those years – when Dad died, when you wanted to spend time with Emily - who I know you loved so much, through my divorce, my birthdays, even through my grandson's funeral … I should've allowed you to be there, Samantha. I should've. This is all my fault. I can't help thinking that if I just allowed you back into our lives that you could have … I could have helped you somehow." He stopped talking before he choked on the sudden lump in his throat. He blinked his eyes several times to stop the tears from falling. Not because he didn't want to cry for Samantha, but because her eyes were now open and she was studying his face. He didn't want her to see how he pitied her. No, she deserved more on her deathbed.

Samantha made a gasp, which Mulder thought was the way she breathed, and spoke with a voice in an audible whisper: "Don't say all those things, Fox. You know that's not true."

"Samantha – I've been horrible to you –"

"Stop it, Fox, stop it," she gasped again. This time, his hands flew to the one that was nearest to him and he held onto her tight. This seemed to encourage her to continue. "I don't want your apology. I don't need your apology. All these years … all I've wanted is for you to accept mine. Please tell me that you have finally accepted my apology. Nothing else would make me so happy."

Mulder blinked, and the tears began to come. He tasted the saltiness in his lips and he didn't care. He let them come this time. "Of course. I've made my peace with what happened to us, Samantha. You will always be family."

"And you have always been a big brother. Just not to me … and not because you didn't want to, but because _I_ didn't want you to. Forgive me, Fox, if I didn't fit in. I didn't want to. I didn't belong with you all. I lived my life the only way I knew that it could make me happy. If this is the consequence of my happiness … I'm ready. I'm ready." She squeezed his hand in return. "You've always been a big brother to the people you love, Fox."

"I wish I could've been to you, Sam."

"You tried. That's what I'll always cherish. You trying," she smiled again, and for a moment, Mulder thought he saw eight-year-old Samantha before him. He thought he could saw that split second when his sister stopped shaking and crying to look up at him and smile. Mulder felt he could save the world with that smile. He thought he could save her.

He leaned over and kissed his sister's hand. He knew it was going to be the last time.

Samantha closed her eyes once more. "Take care of Emily, Mom … and your girl. Dana Scully, right? She loves you. Love her back."

He smiled against her hand. "I already do."

"Never let her go … she's put up with you for longer than I would've." They both chuckled despite themselves. Then, Samantha opened her eyes and moved her head. Mulder lifted his head up so that he could look at his baby sister.

"I'll be fine, Fox," she whispered once more, and winked at him.

Mulder wiped the drying tears on his face with the back of his free hand and winked back. "I know." He took note of how he meant what he had said. He also took note of how light he felt; how his chest felt hollowed out yet gloriously so. As if an anvil had been carved out of his insides and he was now free.

Samantha's breathing slowed down and soon she was asleep. Mulder still held onto her, even as he stared at Scully at the far end of the room. She was wiping her tears away and beaming at him proudly, as if he was indeed the _Superman_ she oftentimes called him. He thought he had never seen that smile on her before and he wondered if the rest of his life was enough for him to discover how to make her smile that way again.

* * *

Samantha died the following day. The middle-aged nurse with an involuntary quiver on her lip graciously offered her condolences to Mulder as he watched a number of hospital staff prepare his sister's body for the quick cremation (as was standard procedure, apparently, for patients who died of AIDS). She remarked, with a steady hand on his shoulder, that, "She was just waiting for you." Mulder nodded grimly, not knowing what else to say.

There was no wake nor was there a funeral. It was all in accordance to Samantha's request. These public events could alert her former "comrades" of her family's gathering and might retaliate for her past sins. Either way, it didn't matter – Mulder knew Samantha didn't have friends and their family would not have enough time to gather the Mulders from all over the country. So, the day after Samantha was cremated, he bought a delicately-trimmed porcelain and jade urn from a nearby antique shop with Scully and that was where they put Samantha's ashes. He was drawn to the American eagle silhouette carved on it and thought that his sister must have been an eagle in her past life.  
Thank God that they were booked for a private plane for their return to Los Angeles, courtesy of CGB and his condolences. His mother had insisted that she carried Samantha's urn all throughout the flight and he distinctly burned into his memory the peculiar feeling of being somewhere above the desert of New Mexico, with her clutching onto Samantha's ashes as if it was a newborn baby. Across her on that flight home, Emily slept fitfully and he ached to take her into his arms like he had done when she was five. He couldn't do that now – she wasn't five anymore and the one she needed to help her wasn't him.

Beside him was a different matter: Scully silently sat by the window when they boarded the plane and she had offered him every single part of her body as a source of comfort. Her hands were there atop his knuckles when he fumbled with his own; her shoulder was a soft pillow for when he felt too battered to think; his big nose fit snugly within the valley between her breasts; her waists were anchors for when he felt his knees were about to give up on him, and during that flight, her left arm was his totem pole – a solid mound of flesh he could latch his faith onto, where he felt he could gather his bearings from.

He kept glancing at her and watching the clear blue of her eyes change hues from the clouds that flittered here and there in the airplane's window. She stared out at the sky, her thoughts as far and wide as the tectonic plate they were defying gravity from, and he wondered what she was thinking of. It must be better than what he had no choice but to think of … but then again, it might not.

It didn't matter, though – not when everything in his world was slowly and steadily falling apart. It wasn't always that their thoughts took the backseat to reality, and he relished in that.

With the arm that was holding her, he pulled her closer until he could smell the strawberries and cream of her hair and that unmistakable Scully-scent he wanted to wake up to forever. He balanced his chin on her shoulder, gently rubbing on the delicate bone there because he knew that was a special spot that Scully needed to be stroked when she was nervous. He marveled at how fast their relationship had progressed – from gingerly tiptoeing around each other with gentle touches and hugs to knowing where to touch and hug when they needed each other. He was in the middle of a shit storm, yes, but with her around, it was paradise.

The days after arriving in Los Angeles flew by so fast he could barely feel the feet beneath his ground. Before any of them knew it, it was the day before the press conference and Tinsel town was excitedly buzzing with the "biggest revelation" of the month. Mulder didn't want to hear about the "biggest revelation" or what the media speculated about it, so he barred any sort of newspaper or tabloid from his WB office and at home. To shut the world out, he buried himself in work – from the finishing touches of Danced Yesterday, the MTV, to how much he owed Skinner, and transferring the money Scully's family had sent him for over a year to her _own_ account. He even started doing his expense reports at one point, but was scolded by Scully when he computed his working lunch bills wrong.

By Friday, he was exhausted. He fell asleep after Scully pounced on him and made love to him with a blind passion. He let her ride him the whole time; he was happy enough to lie down and watch her bounce up and down his shaft. When he furiously came and she did, too, barely ten minutes later she was stroking him to hardness again. She was insatiable that Friday night, and when he came the second time around, he seriously thought he passed out afterwards.

It was pitch black midnight when he felt her slide into bed with him. He opened his eyes and before she could pretend that she had been sleeping beside him after their previous lovemaking, he spoke:

"You're still awake."

Beside him, Scully's soft warm body stiffened against his, and then relaxed when he gave her arm a light squeeze. He spooned closer to her, melding his naked front to her equally naked back and breathing in the strawberries and cream scent that always seemed to waft from her hair no matter how long the day had been. He sighed deeply into the crook of her shoulder and kissed the base of her nape.

Scully reached up to take the hand that was on her arm and intertwined her fingers with his. "Yes," she whispered, her voice small and timid against the static in his ears. "I ate an apple downstairs and I was thinking that I should take something for this sudden insomnia. I'm sorry I bothered you awake."

"Hey, don't be sorry," he quickly replied against her skin. He had known that she was worried about tomorrow, despite him giving her the leeway to set the date for the press conference. She couldn't keep still inside the Manor – she had rearranged the potted lilies on the windowsills again and again; danced in the basement a couple of times until she was absolutely exhausted; offered to fix his closet (which he reluctantly relented to – anything to keep her busy), and then made love to him until _he_ was exhausted himself. He really, really wanted to stay awake and wait for her to fall asleep beside him, but the last minute preparations he had to take care of with Walter and the intense lovemaking session they shared together were enough to knock him unconscious. Honestly, Mulder wasn't surprised when he woke up to find her still awake – if not, he was guilty and he conveniently blamed his untimely exhaustion on his age. His age, really, at this point in their relationship, didn't matter anymore, but it was always a convenient scapegoat.

"What are you worried about?" he continued after a heartbeat, gently rocking her in his arms so that she scooted closer - until they were one molecule again. Scully moved her hair against the pillow they shared and he could see the strands of fiery redness from the moonlight peeking through the wide window of the room.

"Everything, I think. It _is_ my first press conference." She sighed and he could feel her heart beating faster against their intertwined fingers. "I've always thought that my first press conference was going to be about the movie. I guess not."

"I'm sorry about that," he offered, lifting his mouth a bit so that it fit into the part where her neck met her shoulder. "I wish it could have been different, too – but the paparazzi are scoundrels. They will get their hands on anything."

She shifted a little to direct her head at him. "Oh, don't apologize, Mulder. I'm not blaming you … I'm worried about you."

What? Worried about _him_? He had been in the industry for almost two decades now. What more could she be worried about when it came to him? He was no actor, but he had learned enough charisma from the actors he had worked with in his long career for him to breeze through tomorrow's press conference. He was almost a hundred percent sure that he could charm the media tomorrow with a wink and a pout – the same tactics he had done when he announced he was going to divorce Diana. They all immediately labeled him as the "victim" of the divorce. Thank God his ex-wife barely cared.

Mulder maneuvered Scully so that they were lying down face-to-face. It was easy enough to flip her over – she was so light, so tiny in his long arms – and soon she was staring back at him with those endless blue eyes. He wrapped one arm around her waist to pull her closer and let her head rest on his other arm as a pillow. He also kept her two shapely legs between his longer ones, knowing that these kinds of talks left her feeling vulnerable and she liked the confidence that his touch readily gave her.

"What do you mean, darling?"

Scully blinked innocently at first, then her eyes visibly darkened a shade – he saw this, despite the meager light. "You have a career to take care of, Mulder. Hollywood has known you for a long time … I mean, who am I? I'm just a neophyte here. What will they say about me? That I'm using you for my own fame? That I'm sleeping with you to get around the business? I've heard of all these things …"

"Shhh …" He placed a gentle finger on her pink lips. Mulder made sure that she could see his eyes and that he meant all the words he was about to say.

"We know the truth, Scully. We fell in love. I love you for who you are before all this bullshit… and nothing they say will change that. The truth will always be this: We are just two people who are in love and want to stay in love, Scully. Nothing more; nothing less. If they want to say anything more about that, we don't have to listen to them – just like what we agreed upon when we first started this. Do you remember that?" Scully nodded slowly. He continued, "I will admit to you that Hollywood isn't always the best place to start a relationship. There will be many challenges – more than what we'll be facing tomorrow. Trust me when I say that I'm in this for the long haul and that I want nothing more but to spend the rest of my life with you. And in order for us to do just that, we have to always hold onto the truth – the truth we both know. What we have must, should, always be just between you and me."

His eyes searched hers for confirmation that she understood. Scully blinked and he thought he lost her, but then she began to speak. "I'm in this for the long haul too, Mulder. I love you so much it's bloody insane … but I'm scared. I don't want to lose you." She broke their eye contact and tucked her head below his chin.

_God,_ he couldn't help thinking, _Scully-girl? Ah, it's been a while. _Mulder breathed in, calming himself, and then ran his fingers through Scully's hair. "You'll never lose me, Scully. It's impossible for you to do so. You know where to find me. Heck, you live in my house." He laughed a little.

Through his skin, she mumbled, "How much did it cost you to stop the paparazzi from printing a story about us until the press conference?"

Mulder rolled his eyes. Fuck. He didn't want to talk about this right now. Not when they were a few hours from waking up and facing the world with what they needed to confirm. Not when they both needed to look their best tomorrow …

"Mulder?" she insisted. He rolled his eyes again.

"Nothing that won't hurt me." He gritted his teeth as she pressed her lips on his chest.

"A hundred thousand dollars, right?"

Oh yeah. How could_ he_ forget? She was the one who finished his expense reports yesterday. Damn.

"Yes," Mulder answered, helpless. He waited for her to throw back a comment, a Spunk-like comment that was bordering on caring and smart-ass-like, but within a few seconds, her breathing against his chest stilled and her hold on his body slackened.

_Finally_, he thought as he bent down to give her one last kiss and before he followed her into much-needed oblivion.

* * *

The camera lenses flashed viciously in their faces before they even had the chance to sit down.

Mulder guided Scully with a hand at the small of her back; secretly, he peered over at her with unabashed worry as they stepped up the makeshift platform in the open WB lot. She shielded her eyes from the blight glare of the lights and lenses that assaulted them the moment they left his office to face the press. When they were on stage, he gazed over his right shoulder and nodded indiscriminately at John, who had introduced their entrance.

The platform was modest yet telling: there was a brand new tarpaulin of an emblem that hinted at his upcoming film. It was a silhouette of Scully and Pendrell dancing together – she was on the tips of her toes and leaning towards him while he stood stiff to accept her body against his. He picked that particular shot because he liked the way Scully's body arched towards her co-star and the way her finger was pointed up at the sky while her toes pointed down. They interspersed this shot with bright new wave colors – neon green, pink, violet, blue, red – to conceal their faces and had lettered a sharp "Danced Yesterday" around the silhouette. It looked good when he first saw it in his office; he hoped it provided an adequate backdrop to their press conference today.

There were two chairs on the white-clothed table before them and he pulled a chair open for Scully. She sat down heavily on it, still shielding her eyes, while he took all the flashes like a pro with his 'I'm-the-most-charming-man-in-the-world' grin that John had once remarked he only reserved for the media.

He grabbed the mike that was positioned in front of them. Taking advantage of his other hand hidden away from the prying camera lenses, he gently touched Scully's shoulder. _Relax, relax_, his mind whispered, and he willed her to hear it too.

She must've heard or understood him somehow, because she placed her hand down on the table and forced a smile on her lips. Her dimples peeked.

_One, two, three,_ he counted in his head. Between those numbers, he glanced at Scully and their eyes connected – his confident hazels with her nervous blues – and he proceeded to get everything over with.

"Good afternoon, everyone," he began, his voice ringing from the speakers nearby. Beside him, he felt Scully tremble from the noise. "Thank you for coming out here today. We truly appreciate everyone's interest in my directorial debut movie, which is entitled _Danced Yesterday_. Officially, it will be screened early in June and then be released publicly late June or early July. We're pining for a summer blockbuster," he added with a wink. Usually, these kinds of comments would be taken as asshole-ish by the media, but Mulder knew how to thread with these people. He had worked with them many times before and respected them a great deal. He didn't always agree with their methods (hence, the money he had to shell out and this unnecessary press conference), but it was Hollywood. He was fair game. And right now, he was the most interesting prize of all.  
As expected, he heard a rumbling laugh from the audience. He forged on, "But of course, you guys are not here for _that_," he stressed the last word and got the press to laugh at him again. "Which brings me to formally introduce you all to this lovely woman beside me." He draped a hand at the back of Scully's chair and looked at her. He kept the wince from his face when he saw that her shoulders were almost up to her ears with how tense she was. Keeping his hand where the people in front couldn't see, he ran his thumb up and down her spine to soothe her. Little by little, within that fraction of a minute that he paused to turn to her, he saw her relax a bit.

"This is Dana Katherine Scully, Harry Pendrell's co-star for Danced Yesterday. I personally discovered her when I saw her performing live." Of course, he didn't mention where. "As most of you know, since you've covered her appearances from the Folies Bergere, to Cheers, to Entertainment Tonight, she's an unbelievably talented dancer and a great actress. She's the next big thing."

Scully kept her smile, but he could see the blush creeping up from her neck to face.

Mulder continued, once in a while glancing at the audience, but he couldn't really keep his eyes off of her. She was so beautiful, especially for that particular event. He requested that her hair be straightened for the event, and it was framing her face like an ethereal reddish glow. He had also asked for minimal makeup – just enough to highlight the tips of her nose, the red of her lips, and that little mole beneath her nose. But the makeup artist must've gotten a kick out of her blue eyes because she did something that made them pop out so strikingly it almost floored him when he first saw her out of the dressing room. Sure, he had seen her at her worst and still found her beautiful (even if she was makeup free and bawling her eyes out in a hospital); however, he still appreciated moments like this when she stepped out and literally took his breath away.

"More than that, though," he cleared his throat, made a mental note to not refer to _Scully_ as Scully, and he felt the media fall to a silence so severe he could probably hear their heartbeats beating against their own ribcages, "Dana has been very important in my life. For more than a year now, we have spent time together as co-workers and friends. I was there for her when she needed me and she has been there for me more times than I could have counted. She showed me what friendship is truly about … recently in fact, she showed me how wonderful it is to fall in love with your best friend."

Some of the media people broke the silence with a calculated _awww_. Mulder grinned wider when he saw Scully pursing her lips to keep a smile from breaking her composure. From his angle, he could see her blue eyes becoming slightly watery.

"So, we're here today to share with you that Dana and I are in a relationship and we're very happy to confirm this news to you. Thank you. We'll be taking your questions if you have any."

Pandemonium broke. Mulder ignored the raised hands, calls for their names; he leaned over to place a kiss on Scully's cheek, but before he could, she shifted her head so that his kiss landed on her lips. His heart warmed over the gesture and the warmth felt like a heavy burden being lifted from his shoulders. The cameras frenzied before them.

When they broke off, some media people began to call for Scully's name. Of course, they heard him already – they wanted to hear now what she thought.

Mulder took charge. He knew some of these people by their first names. He pointed at a heavy-set woman with horn-rimmed glasses a few steps from the back. "Amelia," he said into the mike, now unashamedly placing his arms around Scully's shoulders. She further relaxed into his hold.

Amelia moved to the mike that was placed in the center of the area. "Hi, Dana, it's wonderful to finally meet you and hear from you in the next few seconds. We've dealt with Mr. Mulder for so long now and we've often wondered when he'll be tamed," this comment received a lot of laughs from familiar faces and Mulder also snickered a little, "but that's _another_ story or another press conference. Anyway, Dana, can you tell us how you and Mr. Mulder met and what was your first impression of him?"

Scully shifted in his embrace and leaned forward to take the mike in her hands. She cleared her throat at it, unsure about the way she sounded, then with one big breath she spoke, "Hi, umm, thank you very much for your kind words. We met when he was an audience at a performance I had in one of his friends' studio," she meant _bar,_ but they've talked about this before and decided to label the bar as studio instead, "and he relentlessly pursued me to dance for his debut movie." He smiled when he heard her British accent sounding crisp with the last word – it came out like a drawl, like _moo-vee_ to his ears. "I only agreed because he seemed to know what he was doing and he was really passionate about taking a chance with me, a virtual nobody in this industry. As for my first impression of him … I thought he was a bloody persistent man."

This earned another bout of laughter. Amelia jotted down a few things in her notebook and thanked Mulder. The director turned to another familiar face in the group. "Robert?"

A tall, pencil-thin man stood behind the mike. "Good afternoon, Mr. Mulder and Ms. Scully. It is our pleasure to meet you, Ms. Scully." He glanced at his notes. "Ms. Scully, we understand that you came from England. May I ask which particular place there?"

"Wales," Mulder answered for her.

"Oh, Wales! Great weather. Anyway, what was the most challenging aspect of filming a movie for the first time? And did your relationship with Mr. Mulder make it even more challenging?"

Scully shook her head. "Hi, Robert. To answer your latter question – no, my relationship with Mr. Mulder didn't make filming any challenging than it already was. You see, the reason why the movie took so long is because we had to rehearse two sets of dance sequences. Harry and I rehearsed on our own and then rehearsed with the group for the more elaborate sets. Then after rehearsals, we would shoot some scenes which were apart from the dancing. It was physically draining. But what made it bearable was that my character in the movie, Aida, was someone who had an old-world exhaustion about her so I don't think that part in the film was fake …" Everyone laughed at her comment, including Mulder. "So to surmise, I think the only thing that was challenging about my relationship with Mr. Mulder and the movie was the way he directed. He can get very single-minded when he is doing something he's passionate about. We had really, really long hours on the set. Sometimes, sixteen hours straight and Mr. Mulder wouldn't stop at that. He would keep on going until he had the perfect shot. I think I was more worried for him than I was for myself."

He squeezed her shoulder to acknowledge the sentiment behind that. Mulder's pride was swelling in happiness; Scully wasn't just doing well, she was doing _great_. In his heart, bones, soul, he understood that she was meant for this – she was meant to do this for the rest of her life. She was meant to be in front of all these people, to handle all these craziness, to be beside him throughout it all.

It was so perfect. Everything was falling into place.

Before he could call from the pool of familiar faces, someone was already at the mike and starting a question. Mulder had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes when he realized it was Cantrell of the ET behind-the-scenes infamous incident. He hoped that he'd play nice this time.

"Hello, hello, Mr. Mulder and Ms. Scully!_ I_ knew this was coming!" Beside him, Scully visibly tensed. "I do have a question though. After our interview a few months ago for Entertainment Tonight, I've done a bit of a research on you, Ms. Scully," he thumbed through his notes and Mulder stole a glance at Scully. She was more than tense now. Her shoulders had a slight tremble to them and her blue eyes fidgeted more than usual.

"And I did find out that you were born in Wales. My first question is, why America?"

Scully blinked and said to the mike: "This is where dreams are free, Cantrell."

Cantrell's eyes twinkled. "Oh, yes, yes, dreams are free here. But are you sure you aren't running away from something back in Wales?"

Low grade murmurs erupted in the room. Mulder glanced back where John, Walter, and Marita were standing by the stage. He raised his eyebrows at them, a silent demand to keep this fucking asshole in line, and before John could move towards the reporter, Cantrell was already firing away: "You have two brothers and one sister, don't you, Ms. Scully? You are from a very, very well-off family in Wales. Almost close to royalty, I believe. And not only that … but you were in a scandal two years ago. I read in some local Welsh newspapers that your sister and two brothers were sent to jail briefly for an unmentioned crime. But a crime grave enough to still make the newspapers despite it being very hush-hush. Is this what you were running away from?"

Beside him, Scully had paled and the murmurs started to become louder, more alarmed. Some agreed with the way Cantrell was attacking Scully, also curious to know what sort of mystery surrounded this British gal, while the others who had known Mulder for a long time were cursing at him, telling him to "sit the fuck down" or "give it a rest, Cantrell."

John and Marita were behind Cantrell at once, putting their hands on his shoulders to ask him to sit down. He refused with a shake.

"It's my right to ask these questions!" he piped up, voice cracking. Underneath the table, Scully placed a hand on his thigh – so tight he thought it would rip through his jeans – and he grabbed her hand and squeezed it just as tight. She didn't have to do this alone. He was with her all throughout, even if his head was spinning from what he was hearing. Was it true? Was Scully really running from a heinous crime that her family had committed back in Wales?

"I, I …" Scully swallowed hard. "I wasn't running away from anything. What the newspapers reported on two years ago was never substantiated or proven in court. These were all based on rumors and hunches. My sister and brothers never committed such a crime and though a crime DID occur, they were never proven guilty."

Cantrell opened his mouth to say something else but was jerked from the mike by an irate John. He whispered something in Cantrell's ear that made the languid man pale, and then he was escorted out of the premises by a security guard.

The press conference went on for the next hour without any more incidents, but Mulder made a mental note of Cantrell's comments and how Scully's demeanor had suddenly tensed since then.

After posing for a few photos for the media, they were escorted by Walter to his WB office. There were congratulations, a bouquet of flowers for Scully and red wine for him from CGB Spender, and then the door closed behind them.

Scully plopped heavily on his couch and kicked off her heels. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the backrest; when she did so, he could see the blue vein on her neck pulsing, as if asking him to come closer so he could lick it.

Mulder sighed heavily; sure, they did a great job, but Cantrell's comments made him think. Hard. What was he talking about anyway? And how dare he question Scully like that?

He moved closer to the Spunk, intending to just plop down beside her and rest after that tiring two hours, but the moment he sat down, Scully trembled all over and landed in his arms. She buried her face into his chest and began to cry. It wasn't silent; it wasn't shy. She was howling into his shirt, her body shaking so hard he thought she was going into shock.

"Scully, Scully, tell me what's wrong!" he demanded into her ear. She shook her head and continued to sob. He wracked his brain and changed his tactic. He had to know. He had to know now or else it would drive him insane.

"Scully … what Cantrell said … was it true? It would not matter to me, but I want you to be honest because once this movie gets out there people are going to be very curious about you. Is it true what he said? I know you denied it, but is it true?"

Scully sobbed for another solid minute. Mulder thought she wasn't going to answer – it was typical of her and he wouldn't be surprised, but she nodded. So small, so quick, that if he wasn't paying attention, he would have missed it. But the nod was there. The truth was there on his lap, a heaping ball of sadness and tears.

_Jesus_, Mulder wanted to smack himself on the forehead, _Scully's unfolding like a goddamn flower every day_. He was happy that she was finally being honest with him about her past bit by bit, but he was also afraid. He was also afraid that the moment she was in full bloom, he wouldn't be able to recognize her anymore.

And that frightened him. Because he knew he would love her whoever she may turn out to be, but would she still love him, despite herself?

Soon, he also started tearing up and without shame, he cried silently along with her.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER FORTY ONE**

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you for all your comments. I briefly posted this fic at Archive of Our Own; however, I find it hard to maintain two accounts, so I'll just finish this story here. And yes – we're almost at the finish line! Keep those reviews coming!


	45. Chapter Forty Two: Chateau Sunshine

**CHAPTER FORTY TWO:**

* * *

Chateau Sunshine Hotel  
Sunset Boulevard, Los Angeles  
June 28, 1986  
Saturday

"Here, Mulder! Look here!"

"Dana! Look here! Smile for us, will you?"

"Show us a kiss! Show us a kiss!"

"You two look perfect tonight! How are you feeling?"

Mulder leaned into the boom mike and flashed the camera in front of him his best smile. He did an inventory of who was asking him that question and in his head thought, _Ah, People_, then waved a little at the interviewer.  
"I'm feeling great! This is what we've worked hard for all that time." He gently squeezed the waist of his date for the night.

Scully had her arms loose around his torso and she tightened her grip to bring herself closer to the mike. Everywhere around them were hot white flashes of cameras, media calling out their names, TV hosts desperate to ask them questions, and the WB personnel and their body guards for the evening hounding their every move. It was maddening; it was chaotic, but Mulder felt that he was in heaven.  
What made it even better was that Scully seemed to also bask in the limelight. A good example was the way she stood up with her shoulders straight; she unashamedly held onto him as they walked the red carpet towards the entrance of the Chateau. He loved every minute of it, and whenever he caught her gaze and she flashed him a close-lipped smile that showed her little dimple, he could tell that she loved it, too.

"Oh, this is magnificent! This is my first premiere and I'm having the time of my life!" Scully giggled afterwards, and he felt her stroking his sides – it was a nervous, but very pleasurable, gesture from her.

The reporter, face hidden behind the bright spotlight of the camera, waved the mike in their faces. "Is there a possibility of you doing another movie with your boyfriend?"

She caught his eye, raised an eyebrow to silently ask him, _boyfriend?_ Mulder shrugged. It was funny – lately, they didn't think of themselves as boyfriend and girlfriend. It seemed too shallow of labels for what they have gone through together in the short time they've been intimate. He preferred to call her his "partner," and once after making love, she told him that she agreed with him. "Partner" sounded like it fit who they were two each other: yin and yang. Two parts of one whole.

Of course, Scully wouldn't rain on the reporter's parade. Not tonight.

Her smile became wider. "Well, if my _boyfriend_ has another project up his sleeve and he considers me for the role, why not? I guess I'm easier to negotiate with."

Mulder laughed, then moved her a bit from the mike so that he could talk into it. "Dana's a fantastic actress. If there IS a next project and it's perfect for her, then yeah, why not? But right now we want to enjoy the night because this is the fruit of our hard work. Thank you!" With that he ended the interview and in perfect sync, they moved together on the red carpet: his arm around her shoulders and her hands around his torso.

They posed around for a couple more photographs before Mulder saw Marita at the end of the red carpet beckoning them both: they needed to step inside for they probably were the only ones being waited for by the rest of the guests. It was natural for them to appear last on the red carpet – they both were the new media babies of Hollywood, after they admitted their relationship more than two months ago to the public. They were quickly labeled as Hollywood's star-crossed lovers or the modern day Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. Not everyone was kind enough, though: they were also labeled as the modern day Humbert Humbert and Lolita.

Mulder could make out Pendrell rushing into the Chateau with a pretty blonde perched on his arm. He was happy to see that Pendrell had started dating (maybe out of spite) when he and Scully went public. His actor wasn't really surprised at their admittance, but he did smart at Scully for a while. Some photo shoots they had to do together were very awkward, so Mulder had to intervene by asking John to go through the most gorgeous women in Hollywood and they came up with the perfect match for Pendrell: Leyla Harrison. They had been dating for a month now and so far, so good.

"One last picture, Mulder! Look here, Dana!"

He gazed deep into Scully's eyes: _Let's give them a show, shall we?_

She quirked an eyebrow, but amusement danced within her blue irises: _Let's_.

With his left hand, he grabbed her own left hand from his waist and used it to pirouette her around in three perfect circles. He didn't need to move – he only had to provide her the stimuli and Scully danced away from him. On her pointy blue heels, she twirled on tip-toes and he released her so that she could continue twirling in perfection that defied physics. Her blue skintight dress twirled along with her – they sparkled as the cameras flashed, and the skirt billowed under the air she stirred in her body's wake.

Mulder's throat tightened at the sight of her moving body. She was so beautiful. He wondered what the fuck he ever did to deserve someone like her.

Then, when she finished with a toe pointed at him and the other pointed at the media, she opened her arms to him and he came into them happily. He kissed her lightly on the lips, enough to send the press into another crazy frenzy, and he sighed against her cheek. She broke free and winked at him. With that, Mulder realized that he deserved her, all of her. He might not be perfect, but he had done enough right to be rewarded with this woman.

They began to laugh now, then giggle, as they walked into the Chateau.

* * *

The wine was everywhere and it was fucking amazing. Mulder had not really indulged to death in alcohol since he had been intimate with Scully, but tonight was an exception. He wanted to get drunk – actually, he felt drunk already. The movie's premiere went by so smoothly he was on cloud nine before it even ended. Everything seemed so damn perfect. There were a couple of standing ovations after it ended from those who mattered – namely, the big bosses of WB (like Chance, who had loved the movie when he was first shown its first cut), the press, and his family.  
He was running high on adrenaline and he made a mental note to moderate himself with the wine. But everywhere he turned, people were serving him wine: John who clapped him on the back and handed him a glass for a lively _cheers_; Walter who was flirting with a blonde guest and clanked a glass with him unsteadily; Chance who was happily puffing away on his Morley and he coaxed for one glass so that they could celebrate; Emily and his mom who were the happiest he had seen them in months – and Emily finally, finally enjoying herself as she drank red _Chardonnay_ in one large gulp and shimmied on the dance floor. The final damage came from the Lone Glitter boys – Byers was already boisterous, while Frohike and Langley were bickering about whose kung-fu was better. But they had wine so Mulder drank along with them.

At around twelve midnight, his head was starting to spin and he broke free from his company (now a bunch of media people who were telling him how excited they were to write their review for the movie … after they nurse their hangover tomorrow) to look for Scully. He saw her hanging out with Monica and Emily about an hour ago. He wanted to desperately keep his eye on her throughout the whole after-party, but was unable to when his own surroundings started to get blurry.

Mulder stood on his toes to scan the crowd. Dammitt, why did he have to drink too much? He couldn't distinguish fucking brunette from blondes or redheads now. Shit. The whole place was swimming in such pretty colors.

He shook his head sharply. He had to concentrate. Concentrate. Look for the Spunk. Look for the Spunk.

Shuffling around the dance floor, he bumped against some bodies dancing intimately to the song – a good song, at that, but one he couldn't remember for the drunken life of him. He muttered a quick "sorry" to every single body he collided into. After a while, he started to panic when his palms began to feel thick. Shit. He was officially drunk.

Scully was NOT going to be happy.

That thought made him bump against the wine table and the goofy-looking waiter held a glass of chilled white wine to his face. Oh yeah, his favorite …

"Dad!" Emily's voice suddenly shrieked like a Jiminy Cricket conscience behind his head. "I think you've had enough of that." She pried the glass from his hand and firmly held his wrist.

Rather than protest, an enraged redhead's face flashed in his head and he somberly hung his head. "Yeah, yeah, I guess I've had. Where's Scully?"

He couldn't focus on Emily's face, but he sensed that he was talking to his daughter, so that was fine. He let her lead him to a less crowded area of the dance floor.

"That's the thing, Dad. Dana's in the toilet. I don't know what's up, but I think she's … she's had enough wine, too. I think she's vomiting in there."

Oh, shit.

Mulder's adrenaline level spiked up and it made his vision crystal. He now saw the furrowed brows of his daughter, her pink cheeks, and her tight lips. She released his wrists and crossed her arms. God, she looked so much like his mom at that moment.

"I'll check on her," he resolved, twisting his body towards the toilets. Only his feet didn't follow immediately and he almost stumbled to his nose.

"Dad," Emily cried out, and he quickly regained his balance. She sighed, "She's in the women's toilet. I don't think you can go in there."

"Em," he spread his arms out wide and gave her a shaky, funny bow, "it's MY night. I can get in anywhere."

That was false bravado, because when he reached the golden door of the women's toilet, he knocked gently and excused himself a couple of times. When he didn't hear anyone answering him, he pushed the door open and let himself in.

It was easy to find Scully – the first cubicle was open and he could see the unmistakable red hair peeking from the door. She was sitting on the floor with her legs crossed in front of her, her blue skirt bunched up on her lap, and her back to the wooden dividers. She was heaving in and out, pale as hell, and cold sweat broke out on her forehead.

Mulder's adrenaline spiked again and he felt himself losing the alcohol in his system. He sat down beside her and dug into his pocket to look for his handkerchief. He found it and started to wipe her sweat.

"Are you okay?" he murmured. She closed her eyes and pinched her nose bridge.

"Fuck, I think I drank too much," Scully spit out in between deep breaths. Mulder saw a line of sweat trickle from the side of her neck and he followed it with his cloth.

"How many did you have tonight, darling?"

Scully bit her lip forcefully. "I think around two to three glasses? I know I didn't have a fourth one because I fucking ran to the toilet by then. I hope Emily wasn't insulted."

"She was the one who told me that you're in here, heaving out the great dinner we had a while ago," Mulder couldn't help but snicker – really? Two to three glasses? She must have lost count, because Mulder had seen Scully finish a bottle of wine and still ride his cock with such precision it almost made him cry, "But really, Scully? Two to three glasses?"

She opened her mouth to answer but her paleness became a greenish tint. Before he could say anything else, she thrust her face into the toilet bowl and began to vomit once more.

Mulder sighed and stood up to hold her hair back as she coughed everything out into the bowl. He wasn't going to continue in on the party while she was THIS drunk. He was going to bid his guests a quick goodbye and have the limousine bring them home to the Manor ASAP. They had a very important interview scheduled tomorrow with CNN and there was no way, no absolute way, they were allowed to miss it. WB would have his neck if they cancelled on it because they both "drank too much" during the premiere.

Oh, and he would ask that limousine to go through a McDonald's drive through too because he needed a jumbo-sized coke to keep him awake the whole night. He had a feeling he was going to take care of a very drunk Spunk.

By the time she was finished, he was already writing a good bye speech in his head. It went along the lines of, _Hey everyone, thanks for coming! My partner and I are seriously drunk right now and we have the interview of our lifetime tomorrow, so we need to go. Enjoy the wine because we fucking couldn't!_ When she lifted her head up and he automatically wiped her mouth clean, he mentally rewrote some of words and placed the final period on that speech.

* * *

After breakfast, his house was thrumming with activity. Everything was a constant play of movement, except for Emily's room which was kept shut to keep all the chaos out since she was also nursing a hangover. Mulder had no such choice, since WB's makeup and stylist crew came over early in the morning and had waited patiently while he coaxed a very hungover Scully from their bed. To tide them over while they waited, he asked Jenny to bribe them with her famous all-American breakfast cuisine.

"You're so pale today, Dana," Chastity, the same makeup artist they had for most of the women involved in the movie, remarked as she dabbed a reddish tint on the redhead's cheeks. Scully snorted at that comment and squirmed in the chair. Their bedroom had suddenly become an impromptu makeup room for Scully could barely get her ass off the bed and they couldn't afford to run late. With some thought for modesty, Mulder tried straightening the sheets of their bed and keeping some of the clothes they discarded in their drunken haze last night (nothing else but to get comfortable, of course) into his closet.

Now, different wardrobe ensembles were sprawled on their dark blue sheets, shoes for both of them were being lined up by the movie's resident stylist, Rush, and his bedside tables were pulled from the wall to double as a dresser where Chastity could dump her huge makeup kit on for easy reach. Mulder paced around, worrying over Scully's condition, making Rush give him the stern eye. He _knew_ he needed to settle down, but for the life of him, he couldn't. He just couldn't.

"Scully, if you're not feeling fine, we shouldn't do this interview," he suddenly remarked, without thinking. The words just came out – like verbal vomit (oh hey, more reminders of last night) – as if he had no control over what he was saying. Maybe he didn't. He didn't dry swallow three Tylenol pills that morning to numb him from nervousness - nope, not at all.

From where she was seated, Scully rolled her eyes. Chastity paused when she heard him speak, but continued dabbing on Scully's cheeks anyway. The makeup artist knew the Director well enough to understand that he had the propensity to spill things out without thinking about them. Especially when he had one too many the night before.

"Mulder," she replied, her accent as crisp as the morning sun awaiting them outside, "we've been booked for this interview since last month. I'm okay. I'm feeling good. I ate some soup," she gestured to the other bedside table near her that had a half-eaten bowl of Jenny's super tasty chicken soup for the soul, while opening her mouth so that Chastity could start outlining her lip, "I had Advil just like you did and I'm feeling good! There's no reason why we need to cancel this interview. _This_ is CNN …" she trailed off. Mulder felt that she wanted to say more, but at that time, her lips were being colored a shade of peach that would match her designated outfit.

He paced around some more. "You didn't even finish your soup!" Mulder whined.

"I had tea and biscuits!" she protested, just after Chastity asked her to smack her lips together. The makeup artist stood up to work on her frizzy red hair, so Scully found the opportunity to turn her body around to face him. He looked at her and breathed deeply at the transformation – last night, before going to bed, she looked so pale he was about to dial 911. Now, what a little Hollywood magic could do was astounding: from being white as paper, she suddenly bloomed into the healthiest, prettiest young lady to grace the City of Angels.

An eyebrow was raised and Mulder, in defense, raised his arms too. "Stop babying me, Mulder! I told you I'm fine. I can do this!" Chastity pulled Scully back to the chair by her shoulders and the Spunk followed indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest. At the corner of the room, Rush started to whistle to break the tension and motioned for Mulder to sit on the bed. The Director had no choice but to do as he was asked.

Once he sat down, Rush started working on his hair. Mulder raised a hand at the man and opened his mouth to talk, but was cut off by Scully's sharp tone:

"You brush it up with only gel and not hair spray, because Mulder wasn't able to shampoo his hair properly this morning."

He closed his mouth. He couldn't help it; he winked at her despite themselves and turned to Rush. "Whatever she said, that's it," he agreed. Rush nodded, commented, "You two are one strange couple," and started combing his hair.

Mulder ignored the comment and turned back to Scully. "What?" she barked before he could even start.

"I'm just saying," Mulder calmly started, "that if you don't feel well enough to do this interview, we could always reschedule."

"Reschedule?" her voice was getting higher, which also made Mulder's neck tighter, "What the fuck are you talking about? Unless you want Chance to have your balls fried and served to the CNN anchors on a silver platter, then go ahead, by all means, Mr. Superman, reschedule!"

"Oh man," Rush laughed, shaking his head, "she's feisty."

Mulder stared at the guy for a moment, as if contemplating if he'd let him live or die. Okay, he'd let him live. He'd let Scully die a little instead for what she said. "She's _not_ feisty," Mulder countered, the joy dancing in his eyes, "she's _spunk-y_."

That got her. Scully groaned so loud that if Chastity wasn't just holding her head back with pins and a blow drier, she would have pounced on him and hit him somewhere.

The tension dissolved into an uneasy silence, with Scully refusing to look at him and Mulder carefully watching Rush work on his hair. Within thirty minutes, they were done, and Chastity ushered Scully into the bathroom to get her clothes on. Rush, meanwhile, had shown Mulder what he should wear. Without hesitation and with the ladies in the bathroom, Mulder stripped down to his boxers and put on black slacks, a black long-sleeved turtleneck shirt, and black leather shoes. He stole a glance at himself on the mirror.

"What the hell is this, Rush? Am I going to a funeral?"

The stylist grinned. "You look good, Mr. Mulder. I'm sure your girlfriend will approve." He then proceeded to dust his shirt free of lint.

It was at that moment that Scully came out of the bathroom. She was trying to swat away Chastity's hands that were pulling down her skirt, but when she stood up, Mulder's breath caught in his throat. She was wearing a peach tight-fitting dress that hugged all her curves in all the right places. It was long sleeved, which further accentuated her gorgeous body and had shoulder pads that somehow gave off the illusion that her waist was impossibly tiny. Mulder noted that Scully had gained some weight the past few months (something that he congratulated himself with because sex always made both of them hungry) and it showed flatteringly well.

Scully saw the admiration in his eyes and coquettishly, she twirled around as if to tell Chastity to back off, but was actually letting him see how well the dress framed her ass. Mulder gulped. When she faced him once more, it was her turn to rake her eyes over his ensemble. He could guess by the apparent appreciation on her face and the way she ran her tongue over her upper lip that she liked what she was seeing.

That was when Marita peeked into the bedroom and smiled when she saw that they were ready. "Hey, Mr. Mulder, Dana, we need to go. The limo's waiting for us." She snapped her fingers at them and left the door open for the couple to follow.

Mulder waited for Scully to slip into her heels and with a hand on the small of her back, ushered her out of the house. He gave some orders for Chastity and Rush, reminded them that the studio driver would pick them up in twenty minutes, and they exited the Manor. A sleek black limousine that had flags of the WB logo on them met them in front of the gate. He opened the door for Scully, watched with fascination as her ass came into his full view when she climbed into the back seat, and he slid in beside her. Marita sat across them, a few feet away. In the middle was a table that had all the drinks they wanted – tea, coffee, iced tea, wine.

The spacious limo was decorated in dark upholstery. Mulder was familiar with the vehicle and had used it before for promos and press conferences, but it was Scully's first time and she tried her best to hide her excitement. She touched the expensive leather walls of the car as the driver, Delan, was ordered by Marita to head on straight to the hotel where they would be interviewed by CNN.

Marita tucked a wayward strand of blonde hair behind her ear and asked both of them what they wanted to drink. Scully opted for hot black tea (even if she wouldn't admit it, Mulder had noted that she still felt queasy before they left the Manor) while he asked for iced tea and sunflower seeds.

He was cracking a seed in between his teeth when he unconsciously asked again, "How are you feeling?" Marita turned away, probably because she was exasperated at his relentlessness, while Scully ignored him and sipped carefully at her tea with a glass straw (to keep her lipstick safe).

In less than thirty minutes, they were at the hotel (of which name, Mulder didn't even take note of) and were out of the limousine. Scully looked a bit sad to exit the luxurious vehicle, but he assured her with a whisper that they'd rent the damn thing one time and tour Los Angeles until dawn or until they collapsed in exhaustion. That earned him a little smile.

They followed Marita into the lobby, where there were some hotel guests and staff eagerly awaiting them. They were cordoned off by the WB bodyguards, but Mulder did sign some movie posters and t-shirts while Scully conversed with some young girls in the typical dancing get-up (complete with leg warmers) who obviously wanted to dance just like her. Pretty soon, they were again pulled by Marita from the crowd and into a room where Harry Pendrell was already positioned in front of the camera. There were four chairs in front of the lights and camera, and Pendrell already sat himself in one, consciously fixing his button-up shirt. Seeing them, he offered a weak wave. Mulder didn't know if he was _still_ smarting about his involvement with Scully or if his star was suffering a hangover himself.

The interviewer had her back turned to them and was busily conversing with the segment's director. Marita left them for a while to alert everyone that they had arrived.

Mulder turned to Scully and held her by her shoulders. She stared up at him with that damn eyebrow once again.

"Look, Scully," he admonished, breathing heavily, "you don't have to do this. Even if we're here, we can walk out. You can rest, get better, and we'll reschedule this damn thing. I don't want to see you pushing yourself for something we can do any other time. Not in your condition. I saw what happened to you last night and we should be in a hospital right now."

For a moment, Mulder thought that Scully had just enough of him and was going to hit him or knee him in his groin so that he'd back off, but she relented. She placed a hand on his cheek and brushed away an imaginary hair there.

"I'm touched that you're concerned for me –"

"Because that's what I'm supposed to do as your partner –"

"Let me finish, Superman," she cut off, but traced the side of his face tenderly, "I appreciate what you're trying to do, Mulder. I do. But let me ask you: isn't this movie important to you?"

There was no hesitation in his answer: "Yes, but you're more important than anything else."

She smiled, a small, mysterious one. "Remember, Mulder, without the movie, there would've been no me. We wouldn't have met and we wouldn't have been together." She moved her head to her right, as if trying to bore through his soul with just her gaze. "This is our job, Mulder. We may have had the premiere last night and people there may like the movie, but it is also our job to make sure that they _do_ go and see it. This is YOUR big break. I want this for you. And for you to get that big break, we need to do our job: your job and my job. So let me do my job while you do yours."

Mulder's hands dropped from her side and he tucked them into his pockets. She was right, of course she was. And he didn't hate it that she was right, actually, he loved it. This was one of the reasons why they were so good together: Mulder was highly emotional and worked off his emotions, while Scully used her head all the time in situations like these. He was always thinking with his heart, while she was always feeling with her brain. When he was off the rack, she was there to talk some sense into him. When she was too unfeeling, he was there to help her feel.

_Yin and yang,_ Mulder marveled.

"Are we ready?" Marita suddenly questioned. She was behind them and had been watching them silently, letting them have their own private moment despite needing to get them on the set.

Scully grabbed Mulder's hand from his pocket and squeezed it. "We are, Marita."

Marita grinned and led them to the set. Scully pulled at Mulder's hand and he followed her into the blinding lights and whirring cameras.

At the back of his head, he knew something was wrong or was about to go wrong. However, as he sat down beside Scully and Pendrell in front of the huge cameras, he also knew it would have to wait, whether he liked it or not.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER FORTY TWO**

* * *

**A/N: **Since there are only eight (8!) chapters to go before this story ends, I'm dedicating the next few for those who were there before during the height of this AU. This one is for **Chureezee** or Chrissie B., who has been a good friend of mine for over sixteen years now since I discovered TXF. She was this story's first beta reader and had encouraged me so much before, despite being busy in law school. She's now a lawyer, btw – and a good one!

Thank you for all your reviews and keep them coming as we get closer and closer to the end!


	46. Chapter Forty Three

**CHAPTER FORTY THREE:**

* * *

1 August 1986

Dear Melissa,

I know I have not written for quite some time. For that, I apologise. Promoting the movie has kept me busy – I've been flying from one state to another and though it has been fun, I've been extraordinarily tired. Sometimes, I feel as if I cannot keep up anymore. I go out and wave to the crowd, the fans (apparently, I have fans now), but I feel as if I'm floating on thin air. My body's there in front of them but my mind's somewhere else. Usually, my mind is in my bed.

Mostly, I had Mulder with me and he's been such a comfort. When he's on stage or in a studio with me, it feels right. It feels as if I could put my feet back on the ground and concentrate on being this persona … this "Dana Katherine Scully" (this is the screen name they've chosen for me to use) who could smile and wave at the people without any problem. When he touches the small of my back to lead me from one photographer to the next on a red carpet event, I feel energised. I feel as if I could get through anything.

However, he couldn't be there all the time. He has different commitments as a director, as I have my own as an actress and dancer. I usually travel with my co-star, Pendrell, and we get along fine, but he's talking with his girlfriend, Leyla, who could tag along with our many trips. Mulder's busy schedule keeps me from talking to him constantly on an available phone. I wouldn't wish it any other way, but I wish I could talk to him more so that I could feel real.

Don't get me wrong, Missy. I love what I'm doing here and everyday is a confirmation that I'm right where I should be. It's just that … my body's not cooperating. I'm young enough to keep up with all this madness, but I know enough to understand my body and to accept that change is about to come.

I think I shall see you soon, Missy.

_Mama, byddaf yn eich gweld yn fuan_.

Yours,  
Dana

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER FORTY THREE**

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter is for the fanfic writer **Nancy** who was first a reader of this story and then became one its toughest beta. She always wished I finished. Here it is, Nancy!


	47. Chapter Forty Four: Mulder Manor

**CHAPTER FORTY FOUR:**

* * *

Mulder Manor  
Beverly Hills, Los Angeles  
August 3, 1986  
Sunday

"_All great changes are preceded by chaos."  
_– Deepak Chopra

The lemon scented Lysol that greeted Mulder when he opened the door to his Manor was invigorating. He missed being home and he had been promising to whoever listened, during the whole five-hour plane ride he just endured, that he would be unavailable to anyone and anything for the next week.

He dropped his bags on his feet, slipped out of his shoes, and padded bare feet through the living room, dining area, and to the stairs that led to the basement. He gave Jenny her much needed weekend off, Emily was out having lunch with some of her friends, and Scully was where he knew she would be.  
Opening the door to the basement as silently as he could, Mulder paused at the entrance to watch his girl do what she did best. There she was, wearing only a nude body suit that curved over and out the fine muscles of her lean frame, her arms extended above her head in perfect straight lines, right leg stretching adjacent her body to create a ninety-degree angle with her thighs. Her back was to him, the fiery red hair up in a loose bun, and the boom box at her feet playing the Bee Gees' soulful rendition of _Danced Yesterday_. He savored the moment of seeing her move to the beat - extending a limb there, twisting her waist here - because he loved every single second he spent watching her dance. It was when he could pretend that he knew every single part of her; that he knew the soul within the woman he loved.  
After the incident during their first press conference months ago, Walter and Marita had effectively looked into the problem with Scully's siblings. Apparently, it was nothing big – there were a few dailies in Wales that ran the story and, as Scully had confidently shot back at Cantrell, nothing was indeed proven in court. A few weeks after the press conference, the whole hullabaloo was already forgotten. In reality, he wanted to believe Scully and what his colleagues had unearthed in Wales about the public fact that her brothers and sister were never charged with any crime, but he couldn't help the shiver that ran through his spine when he thought about it. How true was this? Did Scully flee to Los Angeles because she was running away from something as sinister as this? Even more frightening: Did she take part in what had happened, if it did happen at all?

"How was Philadelphia, Mulder?" Scully's voice tore through his thoughts and he chuckled nervously, not surprised at all that she'd sensed his presence despite her back to him. She continued dancing while she waited for his answer, standing on tiptoes as the tempo picked up.

"You may not know this about charity events, Scully, but here - they make you do everything." He rested his hand on the door's frame and leaned against it with a smirk.

Finally, she faced him. Her face was flushed pink, her eyes bright and ocean blue, her lips red, her smile so wide it stole his breath away. Inside his chest, his heart was being squeezed by an invisible hand. He wondered if it was going to be like this for the rest of his life – one look from her and he could seriously die from how much he felt. He was certain that he couldn't survive _without _her, but could he also survive _with_ her too?

Scully didn't stop dancing; however, this time, she danced closer, towards him. "How do you say so?" she inquired, panting in between.

"They made me recite some stuff in front of a TV for a commercial, cut ribbons for three events, say inspirational things about Samantha in front of a crowd (who I think were more interested in the movie than in what I had to say, by the way), conduct games after the big event, AND socialize during the dinner party." He ran a hand through his hair. _Smooth as a baby's,_ he decided with a smug smile. "That's why I wasn't able to call you up last night. I was too damn tired to move from my five-star bed - the least they can do." She placated an amused eyebrow at this, because she knew him well enough to gather that his frustrated ramblings were more for her benefit than his; it was a way to explain why he wasn't able to call last night when she probably expected to hear from him. He wanted to do the charity event, specifically because it was for a new HIV-positive organization, and the charity was more than happy to accommodate his sudden interests. They were a big thing at this time: _Danced Yesterday_ had been a certified hit and people couldn't get enough of the love story behind Aida and Darin, not to mention the elaborate dance numbers that accompany this whole concept. The problem with Alex Krycek had been happily swept under the rug … and the last he heard from CGB was that Krycek's movie had to be scrapped for another script or else it would look too similar to merit copyright infringement or worse - the adoring public's wrath.

The song finally ended with a falsetto from one Bee Gee. Scully also ended her dance with her fingers pointed in the air and her torso forming a beautiful curve. She offered him a tight-lipped smile, which prompted him to clap heartily. She bowed her usual dancer's bow: her right arm swept through the audience first, lifted up in the air, fell to the ground together with her curtsy. Then, she'd proceed with her left arm to do the same.

After this, Scully closed the gap between them with one quick jump. He opened his arms to her, eager to feel her body against his, never mind the sweat soaking through his expensive suit. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him deeply, longingly; a kiss he gladly reciprocated by pressing her body closer to him. He tilted his head so he could kiss her further, so he could taste what he had missed for almost one week – her Scully taste, the sweat of a day's dance, the passion, her love. He wanted it all in one kiss.  
When they broke apart, he pressed his forehead on hers, his breath coming out in short ragged gasps. "God, we need to stop being apart for so long. This past month had been fucking hell," he whispered, voice sounding too much like sandpaper on wood. Scully nodded against him.

"The movie's doing well, Mulder. Isn't that incentive enough?" Ah, Scully. Always the voice of reason even if her fingers were already clamoring to feel the skin at the back of his neck and her lips were trailing small kisses on his jaw, until she reached the mole at the corner of his cheek and licked it. He shuddered in response.

"It's doing more than well, Scully … it's a huge hit. Some theaters are still playing it. We should stop. We should relax and enjoy the success. Go somewhere … Bahamas, Maldives … take your pick, _cheri_." Then, everything started weighing heavily on his battered body. He was tired. He was on a five-hour flight. He drove himself home, not wanting to be driven anywhere by anyone since he had been driven everywhere the past few months. He knew Scully had to practice for her Dave Letterman show guesting next week so he told her not to wait for him at the airport. The same with Emily, who he suggested should be meeting up with Jeff rather than going out with her girlfriends, but who had also successfully ignored him like she had the past few months that Mulder had pleaded with the her to do something about her marriage. Mulder's lawyers had been attending to the divorce papers, much to his chagrin, but he was hoping that Jeff wouldn't sign.  
Scully met his lips again, placed an achingly slow kiss there and wrapped a leg around his waist. The back of Mulder's brain short-circuited. She wanted _this_ right now? Jesus. He wasn't sure he could do this. He was about ready to collapse.

"Scully …" he sighed, wanting to shoot himself on the head for taking a rain check on sex. Sure, he needed to be intimate with her and he fully intended to do that, but maybe after a few hours of rest or something. He didn't want to pass out while fucking. He suppressed a groan at the horrifying mental image. That was going to be one for the Mulder books. "Aren't you tired? Why don't I draw a bath and we can spend some time in the tub before we get some sleep … and you, since when have you been dancing?"

Scully nuzzled his throat, his cock jumping up in response despite his fatigue. He silently cursed his body for giving her the wrong signals. He was going to fucking pass out, damn it. And no, he shouldn't have said _that _word because his other member was standing at attention with the idea! He had to control the situation before it got out of hand.

"I've been dancing since you left for Philadelphia, Mulder." She laughed - a low seductive laugh that made his Adam's apple bob up and down. "Since this morning, actually … I had to perfect this sequence for Letterman."

"This morning? Scully …" he protested, planting his hands on the sides of her face and pulling her lips away from his skin. Now, he finally got a good look at her: her eye bags were darker than usual and her cheeks were sunken beneath the seemingly healthy pink flush. He talked to her every day on the phone, but she always assured him that she was taking care of herself. Apparently, it wasn't all true. "Scully, look at you! You look even worse than I do. C'mon, let's go to bed." He started walking out the basement, holding her waist firmly in his grip and dragging her with him.

He stopped when she hesitated. Mulder turned back to her. "Scully?"

Suddenly, her face blanched to a painful white and her eyes rolled to the top of her head. Her body bent at an abnormal angle on his arm and within seconds, she dangled lifelessly from him, her head and arms suspended mid-air like a puppet's appendages.

Mulder choked back the shock, adrenaline hitting him like a lightning bolt. "Scully!" he shouted, knowing it was useless. With one quick swoop, he picked up her light body in his arms and ran up the stairs. He gently placed her down the couch, his arms shaking; he ignored the gelatinous feel of his knees as he ran to the phone and dialed 911.

* * *

"Dad, wake up."

Mulder jolted from a dreamless sleep, his hands visibly shaking as he reached up to hold Emily by her shoulders. It took him a while to focus on her, which he did by palming her cool cheeks with his warm hands. He was panting and mentally willing his body to calm down, while Emily smoothed damp locks of hair from his forehead.

"Dad, it's okay; it's just me." She ruffled his hair, wearing an expression he couldn't read. He nodded to assure her that he was indeed fine. It was then he noticed that she had someone with her. Mulder squinted his eyes at the man behind his daughter.

"Uncle Byers is here, Dad," Emily explained, moving to his side so that he could see his friend. Emily held herself close to Mulder though; she embraced him at his side, his head resting on Emily's waist as if letting her go would mean his instant death. Nodding, he tried to smile for his friend but was secretly dismayed that he couldn't even muster one. Byers straightened his tie – a nervous gesture – and eyed him with what looked like sympathy. Mulder lowered his eyes to the floor to miss it. The last thing he needed was anyone feeling sorry for the endless roller coaster ride his life seemed to be keen on taking.

"Here we are again, Mulder," the bar owner stated, matter-of-factly. Mulder nodded again, not knowing what else to say. He was so goddamn tired that the moment Scully was strapped on the stretcher and wheeled into the emergency room, he was only able to scamper to the waiting area to call Emily from a pay phone and collapse on a chair. That was where he had been until Emily woke him up. He literally had no idea what happened to Scully since then.

_Scully!_ Mulder suddenly broke free from Emily and sprinted up. Both his companions responded with tension in their stances, especially when they spied his wild eyes scanning the expanse of the white corridor they were in. "Where's Dana? How is she?" He began to pace away from them. "I need to see her."

"Dad," Emily stopped him by gripping his wrist with a strength that reminded him of Bill Mulder's, "Dana's under observation. I checked with her doctor before waking you up. He said he'll come to us soon."

Mulder shook his head. "No, I need to see her." He paced again, running his hands through his hair. He snuck his other free hand into his pocket, found it devoid of sunflower seeds, and sighed his disappointment. He stared down at his empty palm with dejection and lifted his head up to ask Emily if she had some seeds in her car, but instead caught Byers and his daughter sharing a suspicious look.  
He faced them, his shoulders squarely defiant, and raised his hands above his head. "What are you not telling me?"

Byers coughed, straightening his tie once more (it was bound to choke him at that point) and taking Mulder by the shoulder. "Look, calm down okay … Scully's stable. She's awake and everything, but her doctor told us that she had a request …"

"What?" Mulder was making a mental calculation of how long it would take him to go out and get whatever Scully requested for at home. With Byers and Emily there in the hospital, it would be fine to leave her for a few minutes …

"She requested no visitors."

What the fuck?

Mulder's jaw dropped to the goddamn floor.

What the fuck was he talking about?

"Byers? Are you sure you heard right? NO VISITORS?" Mulder ran a hand through his hair, not so smooth anymore, and paced again. This time, with a more determined gait, he started walking to the information desk. "No, that's impossible. Maybe no other visitors EXCEPT me. I'll go and ask for her room number now."

"Dad, the doctor said no visitors, EVEN you."

That stopped him in his tracks. He resisted the reflex to hold onto his stomach – the mere suggestion of Scully requesting that HE shouldn't see her felt like being shot point blank to his gut. Mulder heaved hard, prayed to whatever god was listening for a bit more strength, and slowly pivoted to Byers and Emily. When he faced them, their faces were still unreadable, though Emily looked pale and nervous. She knew her father and saw from his actions that he was about to explode.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded, his voice rising, feeling the rage take over the debilitating pain. "I'm the only one she has around here! No one could tell me that I can't go and see her!"

"Calm down, Mulder …" Byers weakly tried. This made the anger in him pulse more until it was all-consuming, until he could taste it at the back of his throat and he'd rather taste it than taste the pain.

"I'm not calming down!" He was shouting now. A few nurses from the end of the waiting area's corridor peeked and at that point, he didn't care if they all looked. They could all look, goddammitt – the nurses, doctors, patients, fucking media, everyone! "I'm seeing her whether they like it or not!"

"It was Dana who gave those orders, Dad! You can't force her to see you when she doesn't want to see you! Technically, you're not related by blood to her!" Emily argued, also raising her voice so that he could register what she was trying to say. But Mulder was too angry to care. He needed answers and he needed it now!

"I'm the _only_ one she has here, for crying out loud! I'm her fucking partner and she's mine! I WANT to see her!" he bellowed. Byers shook his head in exasperation, tugging on his tie, while Emily appeared as if she was about to cry.

That was when a short-stocked man with wire-rimmed glasses ran from the other end of the corridor to their group. His abnormally large lab coat trailed behind him and when he reached Mulder, the name on his patch read a "Dr. Jacobson." He raised his hands up in response to the murderous look Mulder threw at him. He better have answers and he better have them now.

"No need to get excited, Mr. Mulder." He reached a hand out, and with that, Mulder knew he was used to his kind of outburst. It was an embarrassing realization – one that rendered Mulder incapable of any coherent speech for a second – but one which was ignored in favor of his summersaulting emotions.

"I'm Dr. Jacobson. I'm one of the physicians in charge of Ms. Scully."

Mulder shook his hand firmly. Too firm maybe, because the doctor grimaced when they let go of each other. "ONE of the physicians?" Shit. This was getting better and better, wasn't it? What the fuck was wrong with Scully, anyway? Why did she need more than one doctor?

"Yes, I'm … umm," the doctor hesitated, pushing his glasses up his nose, "Mr. Mulder, I understand that you're Ms. Scully's boyfriend?"

This caught Mulder off-guard. He glanced at his two companions and they also had puzzled looks on their faces. Obviously, whatever the doctor was about to say was also news to them. He returned to the doctor. "Yes, I'm her partner."

"Okay, good," Dr. Jacobson said, "let's start this way, Mr. Mulder. Ms. Scully fainted due to exhaustion. Her anemic condition also exacerbated her weakened state."

Shit, the anemia again. "Oh god. I thought we got past the anemia already," Mulder interjected, placing a hand on his forehead.

"You did, actually. She didn't have anemia anymore. Until her present unexpected condition and high blood volume made the anemia return."

"_Present unexpected_ condition?" Mulder swallowed hard. "What do you mean, doctor?"

It was then that Dr. Jacobson smiled. It was a genuine smile – a smile that told Mulder he wore it often and showed it when it was demanded for in his line of work. Something warm spread within Mulder – it was sudden, sort of like another gunshot through his gut – yet, this time it was welcomed and comforting. Mulder allowed himself to feel the warmth, to wallow in it. The smile Dr. Jacobson offered him told him that it was going to be okay.  
"I'm an obstetrician, Mr. Mulder. Congratulations, you're going to be a father!" Dr. Jacobson glanced at Emily, remembered something crucial, his eyes widening. "Again!"

"What?" Mulder exclaimed, in unison with Byers and Emily. This was BEYOND okay!

"Ms. Scully is pregnant! She's almost thirteen weeks into the pregnancy."

"WHAT?" Mulder again cried out, this time alone. He could feel Emily's hand on his shoulder, pressing gently there. "That's … that's highly improbable, Dr. Jacobson. Scully – Dana was on the pill!"

Dr. Jacobson kept the smile on. "Well, she was honest with me. She said that she missed taking the pills sometimes because they made her dizzy – quite common, because the hormones in the pills may have adverse effects for some women. She missed two days the most and there it went. Plus, these pills are not always effective, Mr. Mulder."

"Oh my god …" Mulder trailed off, the whole gravity of the situation finally hitting him right in his gut. Scully was pregnant. Scully was pregnant. She was actually fucking pregnant. He was going to be a father, again. They were going to have a baby. Oh god. Oh god!

He started to laugh, lightly at first, and then he laughed out loud, his stomach shaking in the process. Turning around to Byers and Emily, he couldn't control the wide grin that split his face into half and reached out to hug them both at the same time. The warmth spread through and through and he hoped it rubbed off on his two companions. "I'm going to be a Daddy again!" he announced out loud, feeling the giddiness rush inside of him so fast and furious he wanted to jump up and down until everyone in the hospital knew the great news. No – he wanted the whole world to know the great news. He was going to be a father again, Universe! Did you hear that? Fox William Mulder would be a father again! Finally!

Byers congratulated him, while Emily started crying. Mulder drew apart, suddenly conscious of what his daughter had gone through, and cradled her head in his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Emily …" he started, but she shook her head against him before he could rethink his happiness.

"No, Dad, no. I'm very happy. I've always wanted a younger sibling. It's okay. Be happy. You deserve it."

He kissed the top of her head, smelling the same sweet Emily scent he had smelled all his life since she was a baby, and it reminded him of what was about to come – he was going to hold a baby in his arms again, he would be able to kiss the baby's soft cheeks, smell the baby's neck, kiss the baby, oh god, he was going to love a child once more, he would bring up a child into this world again and it felt like a second chance. Mulder was a teenager when Emily was born and he had always been haunted by everything he couldn't give her because of his immaturity back then. Now, he was old enough to accept the gravity of childrearing and he could revel in it. It was a second chance – one he never expected, but now that it was here, it felt like Christmas in August. The best thing about it was that he was actually having a child with a woman he loved. He could see their baby in his mind's eye: all Scully – even the red hair – except for the height.

Mulder chuckled to himself and turned back to the doctor. "When can I see her?"

Dr. Jacobson's smile faltered; it was replaced by a tentative, nervous one that didn't quite meet his eyes. Mulder's joy faded in an instant and he knew that there was something wrong.

"Mr. Mulder … Ms. Scully had been very cooperative with us, actually. We have had no problems with her. She answered the necessary forms we asked her to answer without any issues. We needed her medical records and since she's an immigrant, it was something she had to provide us with. There's just one thing I need to ask you, though."

"What's that?"

"According to the data Ms. Scully filled up, this is not the first time she's been pregnant."

"WHAT?" Mulder again shouted, letting go of Emily. He glanced at his daughter, who shared the same wide-eyed expression that he had on his face.

The doctor shuffled his feet, nerves apparent. "According to what she wrote, she's been pregnant twice. Both pregnancies resulted in miscarriage. The first one miscarried during her second term, while the second one was a stillborn. She lost the baby during her last month of pregnancy."

"Just like me …" He heard Emily behind him say. Mulder still couldn't wrap everything in his head. What the fuck was happening here? Scully had been pregnant? Twice? The warmth that had invaded his insides a minute ago suddenly became an anvil that weighed his stomach down. He felt his whole body drooping in response.

Then he heard the small little voice at the back of his head mocking him, taunting him: _Remember, you don't know her that well. Remember, she kept a lot from you. _

Oh no.

Mulder gave into the weight of his body and doubled over, holding onto his knees to support his upper half.

"We're concluding that her anemia before was the result of her second pregnancy and subsequent neglect of her health afterwards. We would like to monitor her for a while to make sure that her anemia isn't going to harm your baby." Dr. Jacobson motioned to them with what seemed to be a sympathetic hand. "Rest assured, Mr. Mulder, that everything is confidential and none of these will leak to the media."

It was Byers who answered, for Mulder still hadn't recovered: "Yes, thank you, Dr. Jacobson."

"You may see her if you wish to do so, Mr. Mulder."

Mulder shook his head. Behind him, he heard Emily whisper his name but he ignored her. He looked up to the doctor. "I need some time. I'll see her but … but not now." He needed to think. He needed to sit down, think of what he would tell her, think of how he'd act once in front of her. He needed time, or else he'd disappear into nothingness.

"Very well, Mr. Mulder." Dr. Jacobson told Emily the room number and left them in the waiting area, where immediately, the silence engulfed the three very stunned people.

* * *

When Mulder was five years old, he broke his leg. He was exploring the small valleys and hills surrounding Quonochontaug one cold afternoon and as a precocious boy, he indulged himself in climbing the highest trees, sliding down the steepest slopes, poking into the darkest ravines. It was an apple tree that he finally climbed; he perched himself at the highest branch and spied the surroundings with his hand shielding his eyes from the midday sun. He believed, for that moment, that he had complete control of the world. For a second, he _did_ own the world.  
It drizzled afterwards. Mulder got wet; he slipped on a branch before he could even get down to a safer height, and fell on his right leg. It bent at an awkward angle – a sight he would never forget for the rest of his life – with the broken bone almost piercing through his skin. He had to be on a wheelchair for the first month and on crutches for the next five. It was a difficult time for the young Fox: there where moments when he felt that he was in complete control of his limbs and that if he just stood up, it would work. _Phantom limb_, his father had slowly explained to him, _you're pretending to have what you don't._

When he entered Scully's hotel room, he froze at the entrance to keep his heart at bay. Again, his father's words came at him like a hit at the back of his head: _Stop pretending, Fox. You'll only hurt yourself if you keep on doing this._

Looking at the redheaded woman on the bed, who was staring up at him with wide blue eyes and a tense expression on her face, he wondered who was hurting whom more. Was he really pretending, or was she?

Mulder needed to stop psychoanalyzing himself: he HAD to know that this was coming. From the very beginning, she made it clear that there were some things about her that she couldn't tell him and he let her. He allowed her to keep her secrets, because he wanted her to stay with him. Because, maybe, if he pretended that their love for each other was enough, it _would_ be.

What if it wasn't? What if he was wrong all along?

There was a chair beside her bed, to which Mulder hesitantly sank into. He refused to look at her straight in the eye, afraid of what he might see there, and instead directed his eyes squarely on the tops of his scruffy leather shoes with his hands clasped in front of him. On the bed, he could see her shifting against the IV's wire, her medical bracelet falling to her wrist as she moved her hand towards his direction as if to touch. It never did reach him.  
He motioned awkwardly to her bracelet. "We need to start a collection of those," he kidded, not sure if it was the right thing to say but his brain could only come up with it at that moment.

When she didn't respond within the expanse of two breaths, he braced himself.

"Mulder …" she whispered so tenderly it broke a piece of his heart off, "I'm sorry."

He raised a finger in the air to halt her from speaking. "Don't be. This is my fault. I should've expected this. Only I never thought I'd find out about you this way … with our child on the way." Christ, the idea of having a baby with Scully still ran a chill down his spine; sadly, he couldn't determine if it was a chill of excitement or trepidation. "All I'm asking from you right now is for you to take care of yourself and our baby. That's it."

She sucked in a deeper breath, suddenly reaching over to grasp his clasped hands and involuntarily, Mulder jerked back. Scully also moved away, surprised at his reaction, and it was inevitable – they stared at each other straight in the eye.

Mulder didn't like what he saw in hers.

"Scully –"

"Don't you dare NOT ask me for anything else," she challenged, her stare a steel blue on his own green pools. Her lips tightened into a grim, determined line. "Don't you _dare_ take the blame for this. We're in this TOGETHER –"

"Fuck that!" Mulder exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air and wishing he could hit something in that damn hospital room. When he couldn't hit anything that wouldn't alert the nurses outside, he slammed his fist into the bedside table, rattling the medicine foils and empty glass there, making Scully close her eyes to not see him tether on the edges of breakdown. "You keep saying that we're in this shit _together_! What the fuck does that mean when you've kept so much from me? What else do I not know about you, huh, Scully? That you were married before?"

"It's … it's not like that –"

"Then what?" he demanded, feeling the nerve at the side of his head throb in his fresh anger. He faced her fully this time, one hand on the edge of the bedside table, gripping hard. "I've kept NOTHING, nothing from you, Scully! You live with me – you share everything with me! From day one, I've kept nothing from you! Why can't you tell me these things? Why do I have to face the goddamn obstetrician and fucking learn these things from him? What are you trying to protect? I HAVE the right to know!" Mulder's fist smacked against the wall. Again, Scully closed her eyes tight, tears pushing through the edges and skittering down her pale cheeks. "I have the right to know all this bullshit because you're carrying my child! I should know if my child's going to be okay or if you're, you're …" he couldn't even bring himself to say it. Maybe because all his anger balled up in his throat, or maybe because all of it reached his eyes and were now threatening to escape through his tear ducts. But he couldn't say it, wouldn't say it, and he hoped that she wouldn't either.

But of course, she would. Only the Spunk would go ahead and tame the white elephant in the room: "I'm not going to hurt the baby. I want this baby."

He wiped his cheeks with the cuff of his sleeve. It was useless to stop the tears, so he let it come, hoping that it was as painful for him as it was for her because goddamn, it wasn't supposed to be like this. They were supposed to share the happiness of having their child. He guessed that if they couldn't share the joy, they should share the hurt.

"Was t-this premeditated, Scully? Did you plan this?" Mulder asked, his voice lowering. Scully shook her head.

"No. This came as a surprise. I should've been more responsible, I can say that, but it wasn't planned." She also wiped her tears on the hospital blanket. "I _do_ want this baby, Mulder. Do you?"

She knew the answer to that and he refused to give her the satisfaction of his confirmation. He crossed his arms on his chest to stop himself from voicing it out. Instead, he threw another question at her: "Two pregnancies before?"

When Scully's resolve broke down: her shoulders shook, her head bowed down and her knees reached up to meet her face, his father's words once again echoed in his head: _Stop pretending what you don't have_. Had he been pretending all this time? Had he really thought he truly owned the Spunk? Had she been leading him on? Had he been gladly fooling himself because he was THAT in love with her?

Mulder collapsed on the chair and breathed heavily. He controlled himself from reaching up and taking Scully into his arms; it was second nature to him now to comfort her when she needed it. However, he couldn't give her that today. No, he didn't want to give it today. They both didn't deserve it.

"There were two pregnancies before. The first one when I was sixteen; the second one when I was seventeen," she admitted, voice shaking but not faltering, "it was a long time ago and I was very young when they happened …"

"Who's the father?" The question sliced through the tension-filled atmosphere like a guillotine. Scully paused for a moment, then shook her head.

"No, I can't tell you." The guillotine fell on his head. He nearly recoiled in the sudden jolt of discomfort.

"Was it a boyfriend? A husband? What's so difficult about telling me the truth, Scully? Am I so unworthy of knowing about you and your secret life?" He swallowed hard. "Don't you trust me?"

Scully lifted her head from her knees and faced him. Her lower lip quivered and he wanted nothing but to reach over to stroke it, to let her know that it was going to be all right, but there was no all right then in that room. All right would not come to them for a long time.

"Mulder," she answered, voice so soft that if it wasn't just so damn silent, he would've missed it, "I don't trust _myself_."

He grimaced, because that hurt more than being distrusted. Because after the time they've been together as both best of friends and lovers, he never thought that she would still be capable of such doubts. Because after all the leaps and bounds they've made in their relationship, Mulder felt that he was once again at the other end of a door in a downtown Los Angeles bar, with her at the other side, telling him to "go fuck himself."

Suddenly, it was too much for Mulder. He stood up and placed his hands in his pockets, unwilling to meet her leveled gaze. "Just, just let Byers know when you've been discharged. Don't worry about the medical bills … and go home. It'll all be arranged for you. Don't talk to the media; don't talk to any reporter. Take a week off and do Letterman if you're up to it. If not, tell Marita." He ran a hand through his coarse hair and resisted the urge to yank it. Mulder made a move forward, as if to kiss or hug her, but hesitated and awkwardly stepped back. Then, he started walking out of the room.

"Mulder?"

He stopped, a few feet away from the door that he felt like was leading to the rest of his life.

"Where are you going?"

Mulder turned his head around, just enough to catch a glimpse of Scully placing a protective hand on her stomach. He grimaced.

"Anywhere but home."

He left before he could hear what she could say.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER FORTY FOUR**

* * *

**A/N: **This special chapter (one of my favorites!) is for one of the greatest fans of Spunk: the Portuguese **Audrey** who also became such a good friend of mine. If only I could still contact her to show her that I'm actually finishing what she calls her "favorite" fanfic ever. She also translated the fic into Portuguese before and it was such a thrill to read the fic in another gorgeous language.

Post Script: I'm trying to squeeze in as many as I can before university starts. I think this is a good place to leave it for a while, is it not? *wink, wink*


	48. Chapter Forty Five: Beverly Hilton Hotel

**CHAPTER FORTY FIVE:**

* * *

Beverly Hilton Hotel  
Wilshire Boulevard, Beverly Hills,  
Los Angeles  
August 26, 1986  
Tuesday

Mulder's eyes were glued to the TV set, his mouth hanging wide open, and when the ubiquitous form of Magic Johnson jumped up and dunked in that much-needed two-pointer for the Los Angeles Lakers, he let out a whoop that reverberated in his hotel room. He stood up, did a funny dance by shuffling his feet around, until he almost hit the bucket containing his choice selection of ice cold beer. He paused, straightened himself up a little, then proceeded to dance a bit again. On screen, the commentators excitedly babbled on and on about how Magic Johnson just killed that shot and was going to make sure the Lakers were in it for the winning.  
He stared at the TV again, hands on his hips, waiting for the commercial break. When a time-out was called, the commentator began to pitch a line to sell the new Ford car, and conveniently so, because Mulder heard the _ding-dong_ of his hotel room's door. With his eyes still on the TV set in case the game suddenly returned without the usual onslaught of mindless commercials, he unlocked the bolts and threw the door wide open.

"Hey, Emily –" Mulder tore his eyes away from the tube and recoiled when it wasn't his daughter who was in front of him. Instead, he was face-to-face with his son-in-law.

Jeffrey stared back at him, too deer-in-the-headlights for Mulder, and shuffled his leather shoes on the thick red carpet. The soldier looked more relaxed in his t-shirt and jeans, but his back was tense and stiff as a board, a habit that was culled from training and practice. It was somewhat disconcerting to Mulder to have him so stiff, even when he was dancing with Emily during his wedding day; though the Director willed himself to get used to it because he promised that he would love whoever Emily loved. However, that afternoon and in between a replay of a basketball game that Mulder had missed last February because of the movie, the last thing he needed was to deal with Jeffrey.

"Where's Emily?" Mulder asked, holding the door open with his bare foot and making no move to invite his son-in-law inside. "She was supposed to come here for lunch."

Jeff nodded, running a conscious hand through his short-cropped hair (standard military requirement, Mulder guessed). "She was supposed to, Dad. But she asked me to come here."

Mulder raised his eyebrows. So they were actually talking to each other? That was good progress. A few weeks ago, Emily had signed the divorce papers and their lawyers were sending feelers to Jeffrey's legal counsel that they wanted him to sign them, too. The talks fell through and Mulder's life also fell through, so he wasn't sure what had happened up to that point. Two weeks later, seeing Jeff in front of him and telling him that he was "sent" by Emily in her place for that afternoon wasn't comforting, but it was encouraging. Again, he didn't feel any special affection for the military man – he kind of viewed him as an acquaintance or a distant cousin, someone he had to see during family holidays or special occasions, but he felt Emily's love for this young man and that was enough to reel him in to tolerate his presence. Plus, it wouldn't hurt that he had promised to give Emily the family life she wanted and deserved all the same. Mulder hoped that maybe, just maybe, Jeff was not going to sign the papers to hold onto that promise.

"Why, why did she send you?" Mulder was distracted. The game had returned from the commercials and the commentators were praising Magic Johnson's previous dunk as if it was God himself who shot that ball.

"Emily needed to stay with Dana," at the mention of the Spunk's name, Mulder stopped listening to the game and gave Jeff his full attention, "and Grandma's there, too. I think they're having lunch this afternoon and then going shopping for baby clothes."

Mulder wanted to wince. He didn't, rather, couldn't. "Oh," he whispered instead, "It's too early to shop for baby clothes."

"That, or maternity wear." Jeffrey crossed his arms in front of his chest, and afterwards dislodged them at his sides. He nodded at the TV screen behind Mulder. "You're watching the finals?"

"Yeah," Mulder softly replied, still hanging onto the piece of information Jeff had revealed, "You want to come in and watch? I have beer."

In response, Jeff shrugged and walked in. Mulder closed the door behind the young man, his face still on the door, and with the thought of Scully out with his daughter and mother, he placed his forehead on the wood, closing his eyes briefly before turning around to usher Jeffrey into the room's living space.  
He motioned for Jeff to sit down on the dark brown colored couch. "It isn't much, but this is where I've been living in for the past few days." Sitting down opposite Jeff on a chair that matched the couch's upholstery, Mulder reached over to retrieve two bottles of beer from the bucket. Jeff sat down, crossed his legs so that his ankle was on his knee, and took the beer Mulder offered him. They tore off the cap, clinked their bottles together, then settled to watch the NBA rerun.

A minute passed without them talking. Mulder drank from his bottle, feeling the beer slide through his throat, his eyes on the TV set. Jeff cleared his throat, which made Mulder brace himself for what was to come.

"Emily … Emily and I are working things out."

Mulder heaved a sigh of relief, both for his news and the three-pointer that Kareem Abdul-Jabbar executed. "That's great news, Jeff," he sincerely said, facing his son-in-law, "I'm happy for that. I've always hoped that you wouldn't sign the divorce papers."

"I didn't," Jeff clarified, running his finger through the rim of his beer, "I couldn't. And I have Dana to thank."

The Director choked on his beer. He coughed a couple of times, covering his mouth with his curled up fist and warding off the worried soldier with a wave of his other hand. When he recovered with a glass of water, he directed his full attention to Jeff and implored him to explain what he meant.

Jeff drank and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before beginning, "Emily's spending most of her time with Dana now that you're … umm, you're not around …"

This time, Mulder didn't hide his wince.

"Yeah. So they talk a lot apparently. And Dana was there when your lawyers were having Emily sign the divorce papers. Dana listened in everything; when the lawyers left, she talked to Emily and convinced her to give the marriage another try. Dana said that it wasn't in the Mulder blood to just 'quit.'" Jeff shyly pointed his bottle to Mulder. "You were her number one example."

Mulder couldn't help but roll his eyes. Scully could never get over the fact that he was as relentless as he could be.

"Dana also said that you have dreamt of a family for Emily, a family that she could call her own and one that she could say was truly complete. Even if we lost our son, we still had each other. As long as we had each other, there would be hope. There would be something 'complete.'" Jeff shook his head, a smile breaking on his face. "She's amazing: Dana. Right after that, Emily called me up and told me to not sign the papers. She asked me to invite her over our house and we had dinner. It was great … imagine, we haven't talked in such a long time and suddenly, we were having dinner at our house."

"Dana has that effect on people." Mulder leaned against the backrest of his chair and directed his eyes to the TV set. There was another time-out and he hissed when he saw that the Boston Celtics were gaining ground in the game.

"So, Dad … if Dana has that effect on people, what happened to the two of you?"

Oh. _Oh_. So that's the reason why Emily sent Jeff. It was a man-to-man talk; more like a fucked up son-in-law to his fucked up father-in-law kind of talk. It was a talk that reeked of _hey, we're fixing things out, what about you?_

He didn't know what happened, really. After that conversation with Scully in the hospital, he intended to stay in a hotel for only a couple of days – to clear his head and to straighten out what to do next. Unfortunately, the couple of days turned into a couple of weeks (three weeks to be exact) and up until now, he couldn't bring himself to talk to Scully. He called Emily once in a while to check up on her, but when his daughter would offer to hand the phone over to Scully, he would balk and hang up. It was silly, strange: he watched Scully perform on Letterman and it was a huge stab of torture on his part to not be there to cheer her on. Still, Mulder couldn't bring himself to go back home and talk to her. Maybe he was feeling betrayed; maybe he was still trying to figure things out … he loved her, he knew that, but he just couldn't feel that love for sometime since their talk in the hospital.  
His mother wasn't happy with what he was doing and she herself had flown to Los Angeles to shove some sense down his throat; however, she was also unsuccessful. Her weekend visit had extended into a weeklong one, with her babying Darling Dana all the way (as was narrated by Emily a few days ago). Mulder wasn't surprised that they were out shopping or doing things girls did, but he was starting to wish that he wasn't such chicken shit. Because while they were out shopping, he could've been at home preparing Scully's favorite pasta primavera and be waiting for her to come home to him.

Remembering Jeff's question, he tried answering the best he could: "I messed up, Jeff." _Welcome to the club, son_.

Jeff nodded again, a habit that Mulder was beginning to warm up to, and his stiff back relaxed against the luxurious Egyptian thread count covers of the couch. "I messed up too, Dad. So we're even there. But I thought you never quit?"

Ouch, touché.

Mulder placed his bottle on the glass table carefully, then wiped his hands on his jeans. "I haven't quit yet," he resolved, eyes on his jeans and on the wet spot his hands left on his knees

"It seems like you had, honestly."

"Look, Jeff, it's complicated – what Scully and I have between us is something you would never understand."

"I don't need to understand that," Jeff leaned forward, eyes on the TV and Mulder kept his gaze steady on the tube too, "whatever happened between the two of you stays between the two of you. But that girl, Dana, Dad; she's in love with you. She really _loves_ you."

Mulder smirked. "I know that, Jeff. Why do you think did we start a relationship?"

"No, you don't."

Now, his son-in-law got his attention. Mulder locked gazes with the young man, studied what was in there for a moment, and wasn't surprised to see the amazement within his brown eyes.

"You don't know how much that girl loves you, Dad," Jeff continued, his voice lowered and tinged with desperation, "with what's happening to the two of you, that girl could just cry and waste her life away. And I've seen it – when I'm at your Manor, I could see how much she's tempted to lock herself in your bedroom and forget about everything. But no, she doesn't do that. She goes out. She still keeps up with her schedule. Emily sometimes has to pick her up from her interviews or TV spots to make sure that Dana gets her rest. And Dana does! She takes such good care of herself you wouldn't know she was vomiting her breakfast out a couple of minutes ago. No one's the wiser. Don't you understand, Dad?" Jeff reached out and touched Mulder on his forearm. The Director flinched.

"She loves you so much that she'd rather take care of herself than stay depressed and be stuck at home. Dana wants to take care of herself for you … because of your baby. _That's_ how much she loves you." Jeff stopped, his eyes suddenly watering. "She loves you so much she wouldn't quit. Dana said it's what you would've done if you were in her position. And she won't quit on you, too."

It was too much for Mulder. As the game moved to its third quarter, the buzzers and cheers were drowned out by his sobs. The dam he constructed around his emotions with reruns of basketball games, beers, hotel rooms, and trips to the ground floor bar finally broke. It was the first time he cried ever since the situation at the hospital. He had not yet mourned the change in their relationship and the self-imposed exile he had been keeping; he hadn't yet processed what it meant to move forward with the past she had kept from him and the future she was also keeping for him. Scully was his future, the only one he wanted for the rest of his days. What he was doing in the hotel room all those weeks was just delaying the inevitable: he felt in his heart that he would love her, no matter who she was before or what she had gone through, and he had accepted this the moment he accepted that he was in love with her more than a year ago.

Maybe it was this love that was still frightening him; the fact that he had forgiven her the moment he walked out that hospital room that scared him … to be so vulnerable to another person, the way he was with Scully, was a foreign feeling. All his life he had to fight to get to where he was, while singlehandedly raising a young daughter along with him. He did it all alone. Now, he had someone with him and it scared him to give her his burdens, especially when he didn't yet know all of hers.  
Maybe it was time to take the plunge – literally. Maybe he needed to let go of his fears and accept what his heart had known all along, that there was never going to be anyone else in Scully's place and that was okay. It was okay to love and trust someone this way.

He felt Jeff's hand on his shoulder, cold from the beer but comforting on his clammy skin. "Dad, it's time to come home." He felt a soft pat near the back of his head.

Mulder lifted his head from his hands and wiped his tears away with his shirt's collar. Christ, what a messed up man he was – crying in front of his son-in-law, of all people. But it was true: it was time to end basketball reruns and beers in the afternoon; it was time to come home and face the future.

"Yeah," he agreed, feeling the weight of three weeks and the tingling excitement at seeing Scully again, "it's time. But I do need to do something and I want you to come with me, Jeff." Mulder once more locked gazes with the young man, silently asking him to comprehend, to agree, to support.

A slow smile tinged Jeff's face and with a mock salute, the smile became a wide grin. "Sir, yes, sir," he answered, and Mulder nodded.

* * *

_What are you doing the rest of your life?  
__North and south and east and west of your life?_

"I knew it was in your future to eventually tire of Aerosmith."

At the sound of his voice, she lifted her head from the couch's arm and gawked at him. It was as if it was the first time she had ever seen him before in her whole life; as if he had been gone for a decade and he, one day, entered the Manor and shouted, _honey, I'm home!_

Mulder smiled sheepishly at her disheveled form and tried that last line in his head out in the open: "Honey, I'm home."

Scully blinked once, twice, her eyelids opening up to reveal wet blue orbs that still wouldn't leave his form at the entrance of the Manor's living room. He didn't mean to startle her – it all happened in such a hurry. With Jeff's help, they went to get what he needed to get from the mall and they phoned Emily to tell her to go home with Jeff for that evening (plus, to bring her grandmother with her). When she asked why, Mulder gave the same response: "I'm coming home." It was enough for her to gather her meager belongings, usher her grandmother and Jenny out, and come up with a half-assed explanation to Dana on why they needed to go out in the middle of the night.

So, there she was now in front of him after the longest they've been apart, with her red hair up in a messy bun atop her head, wearing loose violet silk pajamas that Mulder had never seen before and he deduced it must be new, her feet propped up on the empty space beside her, listening to Barbra Streisand of all people, silently staring into a blank space on the wall opposite her, a half-empty glass of milk on the table. She appeared different; Mulder eventually put two and two together and reeked with pride when he realized that it was because of a certain glow she was emanating – a pregnant woman's glow. And she was pregnant with his child.

"Mulder," she breathed, in awe.

_Let the reasons and the rhymes of your days.  
__All begin and end with me._

He chuckled, "Since when do you listen to Streisand?"

Scully, conscious, tucked stray pieces of hair behind her ear. He could see her face clearly: she was wearing no makeup and her freckles have become more visible in their separation, probably another takeaway from the pregnancy. He loved her freckles, loved them even more because seeing them reminded him of the rest of her little light brown dots all over the secret places of her body, because seeing them meant that he was the only one who was allowed to see the rest of her.

"Your mother loves Streisand. I like this song," she explained, trailing her fingertips on the couch's backrest. Her eyes reluctantly left his face and she let them fall to her fingers, shy, "she left the cassette in the player and I decided to listen a little since I was alone."

_You're not alone, Scully. You never will be_, the tiny voice in Mulder's head protested, but he ignored it. He closed the gap between him and the couch to stand right in front of her. Seeing her body, he let his eyes rake over her form – from her flustered cheeks, the white lilts of her arms, to the small bump of her belly (and there was a bump now!), the tiny pink toes peeking from the hem of the pajamas. Mulder extended a hand towards her and she regarded it with a skeptical eyebrow.

"Dance with me, Scully."

"Mulder …" she warned, looking up to meet his eyes. When he was reacquainted with her wet baby blues, he was floored with just how much his heart could feel in one second: fear, passion, desire, sadness, happiness, excitement, love, always love. Rather than shaking it away, he embraced all the feelings, knowing that there was only one woman who could do that to him. He wasn't letting her go. He couldn't. He wanted to feel this way for the rest of his life.

She motioned to her pajamas. "I'm wearing my pajamas. I can't dance like this," she whispered, then laughed at how silly the mental image of them dancing in the Manor's living room must be. But Mulder was adamant.

"It's just a dance, Scully. That's all I'm asking for." The hand that had been waiting for hers was still there: beckoning, pleading. Scully sighed and took it.

Easily, he maneuvered their bodies so that they were flush against each other. She fit him like he knew she would: her head cradled within the safety of his collarbone and chin, her chest against his abdomen, her slightly rounded abdomen against his pelvis, her knees against his legs. Yin and yang. His right hand found her left and he lifted it in the air, while his left hand went around her waist. She, in reflex, placed her right hand on his chest.

_I want to see your face in every kind of light.  
__In fields of gold and forests of the night._

Scully relaxed in his arms, as if finding the comfort she had missed there; her head rested on his chest and she closed her eyes tight, breathing in his scent.

As the music droned on, Mulder swayed them gently to the song, letting the saxophone bridge take them to the safe haven they both have made for themselves in that very same Manor months ago.

Sensing that she had relaxed in his embrace, Mulder placed a kiss on Scully's ruffled hair. "This is it for me, Scully. I don't want anything else," he soughed, holding her closer to him and feeling her hard tummy against his flesh.

"What do you mean?" she asked, a tear sliding down her cheek.

"This," he also closed his eyes, relishing in the feel of her warmth after so many weeks apart and the music that drifted off in the space between them, "dancing with you. I want to do this for the rest of my life."

"Oh, Mulder," she sniffled against his shirt, "I'm so sorry. I should've told you …"

"We'll get to that, Scully, in your own time," he resolved, lifting his hand up to caress the back of her head, "Let me get this out: I don't care about your past, I only care if it affects your present and future with me. I don't care who you were before, Scully, I really don't. I love you, all of you, and nothing's going to change that."

She nodded, which prompted him to kiss her the crown of her head once more. She smelled heavenly – strawberries and her unique scent. Christ, Mulder missed her so much.

"Nothing makes me happier than going to sleep at night with the thought of our baby, Scully." With that, he reached down and placed a hand at the side of her tummy. Already, it was hard to the touch and slightly protruding from her pronounced hipbones. It was amazing to feel it. She was actually carrying their child in her tiny dancer's body, Mulder mussed. "But what even makes me happier is the thought that you'll be the mother of my children."

"Children?" She lifted her face from his chest and cocked an eyebrow at him. He laughed.

"You heard what I said!" Then, he lowered his face to hers, his lips tracing phantom lines on the tip of her nose. "Is that okay?"

She smiled back. "That's what I want, too."

He opened his mouth to say something, found his voice missing, and grinned back at her instead. Mulder remembered. The object that was in his back pocket burned close to combustion in his remembrance, so he made a move to bring it out. However, before he could retrieve it, Scully stopped him with a hand on his forearm.

In the cassette player, the same song replayed. It was Mulder's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Your mother had Emily make her a mix tape." Scully also raised her eyebrow, daring him to challenge that. Mulder shrugged and let his arm fall to his side, where Scully's fingers quickly found and intertwined with his.

"Let me do this, Mulder," she met his eyes square on; Mulder gulped, finding in her eyes what she intended to do. Scully continued, her accent cutting crisply through Streisand's tone, "Remember, in Paris, when I said I'd marry you when you _want_ and not _need_ to be with me?"

_I have only one request of your life.  
__That you spend it all with me._

He nodded, like a stupid puppet. It was all he could do at that moment.

With her crystal blue eyes seizing his nervous hazel ones, Scully confidently raised her chin to say what she wanted to say: "Marry me, Fox Mulder. Will you dance with me for the rest my life?" Her eyes were still on his when tears appeared at the corners of her irises and started jotting down her face. "You're the only one I want to dance with until I die."

_In the world of love you keep in your eyes,  
__I'll awaken what's asleep in your eyes,  
__It may take a kiss or two._

_ Thanks for the prompt_, Mulder silently told the song and he leaned down to capture Scully's lips with his own. It was a kiss that signaled his yes: every slip of his tongue against hers spelled his yes out for her, every press of their teeth together was a yes, every slide of their lips on each other's was a yes. It was a yes when he smiled against her mouth and she also did the same, especially when he tasted their mingled tears in the kiss.

When they came up for air, he rested his forehead on hers. "That's a yes, if you haven't gathered." They both chuckled.

Mulder again remembered the object in his back pocket. He grabbed it with one heave and still swaying to the music, pressed it onto Scully's palm. "I came prepared," he admonished, making Scully raise another eyebrow at him and look at what was in her hand.

Taking her wrist, he lifted what she was holding into the light. It was a golden ring with a diamond enclosed in a lily setting – the exact ring he saw months ago when he had Mr. Tennyson repair Scully's necklace, one that he had asked the jeweler to reserve for him since that night in Paris. It was finally time to get it; it was finally time that she had it, because he felt that it was always made specifically for her.

"Oh, Mulder … it's beautiful." She pressed a kiss on his chin, the nearest part of him that she could reach. He then took the ring from her and easily slipped it into her left hand's ring finger.

"It looks even more beautiful on you, Scully." And it did. It seemed to shine brighter now that it was on her glowing skin, and it also matched the shade of her cross necklace. She reached up and hugged him tight; he seized the opportunity to hold her by her bottom so that they swung around for a while, laughing happily at and with each other, kissing every now and then when they stopped, then he swung Scully's small body around again until they collapsed on the couch, still laughing, still kissing.

Mulder opened his arms and Scully settled herself within them, curling her legs up so that she was flush against him and there was practically nothing separating them. His hand found hers and their fingers intertwined against the couch's arm rest, her engagement ring glinting under the dim fluorescent lights, so beautiful he had to bend down to kiss her hand.

"We're really getting married!" she exclaimed, laughing again that marvelous _ha-ha-ha_ that he loved hearing. Mulder eagerly nodded, gazing at her pink face, tucking away a strand of red behind her ear.

"Don't tell mom about this, though. Or else you'd be hunting for a wedding dress come tomorrow!" he warned, waggling his eyebrows. Scully grinned, a dimple peeking at him.

"The wedding dress will come _after_ the pregnancy, Mulder. I want to look good on my wedding day."

He reached over to envelop her into his hug and she melted into him as if they were of one skin.

"You'll look good to me three, six, nine months in." He cradled her face in between his hands and kissed her again. This time, when they parted, his teeth darted to bite into her lower lip. She moaned, making Mulder's groin stiffen. "Scully …" he warned.

"We're alone. It's safe," she assured him.

He moved his lips from her mouth to the flesh underneath her ear. She shivered as he whispered, "I don't want to hurt you."

Tilting her head back, she answered with a sigh, "You never could."

Before he could protest some more, Scully reached her left hand towards his own and intertwined their fingers together. The cool metal of her new ring met his skin, making him smile goofily with pride. She reached out, cupped his cheek with her other hand, and pulled him up to their bedroom. Mulder had no choice but to follow her, mesmerised by the shake of her wider hips and firmer ass.

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**END OF CHAPTER FORTY FIVE**

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**A/N: **Thank you so much for all your reviews! I could feel all the love you have for this story, sixteen years in. Old and new fans alike, thank you and I hope you're ready for the next chapter, because that one will _break_ this story and lead it to its conclusion!

The game Mulder watches is real – I researched it, and man, I suddenly became a basketball person for one night.

This chapter is for my other beta readers: **Luna** (who is about to get married) and **Joon**. A huge shout out too to the _PinoyXPhiles (PXP)_ who have been with me since I was thirteen and obsessed with this fandom!

Post Script: The X- Files is BACK! Aaaah!


	49. Chapter Forty Six: Mulder Manor

This chapter contains sexually-explicit material.

* * *

**CHAPTER FORTY SIX:**

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Mulder Manor  
Los Angeles, California  
November 2, 1986  
Sunday

Magazines, baby books, and dailies were scattered at the foot of the king-sized bed. On the right bedside table were round-rimmed eyeglasses, a bound script for a new movie, and a cup of cooling tea. On the left bedside table were a smattering of prenatal pills, a glass of iced tea, a thinner script for a television series episode, and some medical pamphlets. In the middle of the dark bed, illuminated by only the meager sunlight peeking through the window drapes, Mulder caressed the delicate bump of his fiancée's stomach and reached further down below, where he could feel the thatch of red curls brushing against his fingertips.

He sighed when he placed his chin on her shoulder, breathing in her early morning scent that was made up of her new lavender-scented shampoo (the strawberry one she discarded months ago when it made her gag while taking a shower), her morning exhalations, and the whiff of their lovemaking from last night. Molding his front to her back so that his morning erection settled perfectly in between her plumper ass cheeks (and god, he loved how bigger they had gotten), he gently parted her legs, carefully inserting his thigh in between them so that he could gain access, and experimentally teased her slit with a finger.  
Mulder watched as Scully's eyes fluttered, but she didn't seem to have completely woken up. Smiling to himself, he began to kiss the back of her neck and nip at the skin connecting her neck and shoulder. His lips left behind a trail of gooseflesh and she shivered beneath his wet kisses. When her legs parted on their own accord, he stroked her clit with his thumb and then inserted a finger inside of her. The heat welcomed him, while Mulder welcomed the complete hardening of his cock, and with a groan, he pumped his digit inside of her while trying to find a steady rhythm between his kisses on the back of her neck and rubbing his penis against her ass.

Jesus, she was so hot, he thought, as another finger joined the other inside her wet walls. So ready, just like that, for him; though he knew she was still wet from their extensive session from last night … however, he could also feel her juices lapping up his fingers and he reveled in the feeling.

Since making up a few months ago, Mulder couldn't get enough of Scully's body. It did take him some time to be convinced that he wasn't hurting her in any way when they had sex (and a quick, embarrassing trip to Dr. Parenti further convinced him of that), but once he was convinced, man, was he eager to go. There were times when Scully had to literally and firmly say no to him when he initiated anything sexual after chaste kisses-gone-south or simple pecks on the cheek in the kitchen during her may attempts to cook dinner. He didn't know where his lust was coming from; he deduced it was from the manly knowledge that she was carrying his child and it was okay to touch her, or maybe it was from the smoldering heat her body was generating. Mulder didn't care, actually – as long as she was there and he could make love to her at least three times a day (to which Scully sometimes capped at two … that's okay, he could make her come with his mouth), he was going to be fine. He couldn't even stand being apart from her. He had to cancel most of his out-of-town schedule for the next few months and if it was REALLY needed that he had to go out of town, Scully had to come with him. Sure, physically he needed her, but emotionally, there was no way was he going to let her out of his sight.

"Mhmmm …" Scully finally voiced out, reaching up instinctively to caress the arm that had a hand darting in and out of her sex. "Good morning, love … oh!" she gasped when his middle finger hit that spongy part at the back of her walls.

"Morning," his voice rasped, breath hot against her skin. He bit on the flesh of her shoulder, suppressed the urge to bite harder, then ran his tongue over it. Scully turned her head towards him so that she could nuzzle the side of his face. She was successful enough to reach his nose.

"Already?" she breathed, her legs opening further apart to accommodate his hand. Once she was almost spread eagle, with one leg atop his own and the other splaying on the empty space beside her, Mulder pumped in three fingers inside her cunt, moving his body away from their spooning position so that Scully could lie flat on her back.

He supported his head with a bent hand so that he could watch her face. Struggling to talk, Scully hissed when his fingers once more hit that special spot that he knew all too well, "This is number one for today, Mulder. Are you sure you want to use up your sex coupons this early?"

This made him smirk. It was now an inside joke – how she had to issue him coupons to make sure they don't go beyond three times (or twice, fine) a day for their lovemaking activities. When he didn't answer, Scully forced her eyes open, the blues still marred by sleep, and searched his face for an answer. When she settled on his smirk, she relaxed onto the sheets and reached up to push his neck down so that they could kiss.

Morning breath, yes, but it was Scully's and it was glorious. Swirling tongues, teeth clashing, lips devouring … not enough time, not enough breaths, not enough. Mulder pulled his mouth away from hers with a loud pop and descended his lips on the breast closest to his face. Her breasts had gotten heavier and larger since last month and he loved eating them up. If he could, he'd take one whole into his mouth, but Scully had complained of their sensitivity and being the good soon-to-be-husband, he complied by sucking them in earnest without any teeth. That morning was a different story, since Scully was writhing beneath him and one hand found the back of his neck to push him further into her chest.  
His fingers dug once more into her wetness and she cried out. "God! Harder! Harder!" she whispered harshly against the side of his head.

"You're going to come at least thrice this morning, Scully," he mumbled against her skin, his tongue swirling over and over on one hardened nipple, "you give me another coupon for today, okay?" He left that breast and turned to the other one, lapping at it before French kissing its waiting nipple in earnest.

"I'm … I'm …" Her head thrashed against the dark blue covers of their pillows; nails pressing down on his shoulder while her other hand gripped the sheets beside her. Mulder knew her body well, knew what was about to come (so to speak), and with a contented hum, he steadied his finger's rhythm on her sex and turned his wrist slightly so he could press his thumb down on her clit.

That set her off. Scully's back arched into the air, bringing her rounded tummy up with her, and Mulder watched from his continued sucking of her breast, mesmerized as she quivered with the sunrise illuminating her defined curves. On his hand, her vagina shook and gripped his fingers so hard he couldn't take it anymore – he removed his mouth and hands from her body, positioned himself atop her, then in one swift move, entered her while she was still coming.

Mulder held himself atop her while her walls massaged his cock. When he felt that she was about to come down from her high, he pressed his index and thumb on her clit and stroked it once more while thrusting gently into her. He dug his heels into the mattress so that his cock could also dig into the bottom of her cunt, and with that, Scully came again before she could get down from her first orgasm. Mulder relished in the flush that crept from her chest up to her cheeks, her mouth open in a pronounced O, her nipples pointing skyward. Before he could strike once more, Scully anticipated his movements and held his wrist with a death grip. Her face winced from the intense pleasure she was easing out of; when her eyes opened, they were accusatory.

"Jesus, Mulder," she exhaled, small tears emerging from the edges of her eyes, "next time you do that you have to warn me!"

Mulder raised an eyebrow – a habit he acquired from her – and thrust once into her, making both of them groan. He wanted to cover her body with his, to kiss away those adorable tears that she got when her orgasms were particularly intense, but there was the matter of the bump on hand in between them, and he settled himself by bending his body forward to kiss the top of her bump. Scully propped herself up on her elbows to watch him pay his respects to the life they created together in between their bodies. His lips met the skin below her belly button, which was marred by the dark line that extended from the top of her stomach to the beginning of her vagina; he couldn't help it, he licked that line and sighed into her skin. Their child was still asleep, despite the early morning ruckus, and he was thankful for that. Now at the sixth month, he had been more than once kicked by the baby that grew inside her body. He loved feeling his child beneath her skin, but that morning, he had another agenda in mind and he didn't want the kid awake for it.

When he looked up to meet her gaze, Scully was tearing up again – this time, not from her orgasms. Mulder chuckled, reaching over to brush away the tears with his thumb. Another effect of her pregnancy: over-sentimentality. That which her Spunk-self hated at times.

"Okay, enough of that," she said, reaching up with her other hand to brush away the tears he couldn't, "start moving, Superman."

Mulder was happy enough to comply. With his hands on her hips, he pumped in and out of her. She was so warm everywhere – where his hands rested on, the legs that came around his waist to push him further into her seemed to burn against his skin, and his cock was inside a literal Scully-oven. Shit, it felt so damn good he could cry. It was this good every single day and the lingering thought in his head while he made gentle love to her was that he had to get her pregnant ASAP after she gave birth so that it could be this good again and again.  
He closed his eyes. He wanted to watch her writhe before him but he couldn't – it would undo his concentration. Fine, he was about to come, he could feel it in the way the back of his head tingled and how his toes curled into the mattress, but he wasn't done with her. He trailed a finger on her belly before plunging his fingers underneath the hood that hid her clit from him. Scully cried out in surprise and pleasure; she made another move to swat his hands away and in between his urgent gasps he scolded her: "You're not done yet!"

"Mulder!" she answered back, stern but faltering. He was winning and he knew it. He grinned, sweat dripping down his brow.

"Give … me … the … third … one, Scully!" he shouted, punctuating each word with a thrust that hit her cervix. On her clit, his fingers flickered, the way he knew would get her off the easiest. His stomach almost caved at the intense pleasure all this generated, while her vaginal muscles contracted around his cock to signal hers.

Opening his eyes, he saw her fight for control and then with a gasp, she clutched the sheets beside her and opened her mouth in a silent scream as another orgasm overtook her body. One final thrust, and Mulder finally let go. His fingers left her clit and clutched her hips, bringing their bodies so close they were one molecule again, so that he could spill everything he had into her. His orgasm was too exquisite; Mulder bit his lip hard to contain the waves of pleasure coursing through his bloodstreams, so that it wouldn't spill out of his lungs, but it did in long wails: "Scuuuulllyyyyyyy! Fuuuuuuuuuck! Soooooo goooooood!"

A long minute later, he gathered her sweaty body against his underneath the sheets after he set the a/c on full blast. Her pregnancy had her body temperature higher than usual, and though he suffered for it since he easily got cold, he compromised with an extra blanket on his side and socks on at nights (when he remembered to put them on). He slid closer to her body and was about to drift back to sleep when she whimpered against his skin, "Wet spot …" He laughed and moved her away from the alleged wet spot. When they were finally settled, he closed his eyes. It was a Sunday – they could sleep as long as they wanted and fuck as much as he wanted (but he had to argue for it and it was damn worth an argument for).

After sifting through dreams of inky black, Mulder was awakened by a soft knock on the door. He opened one eye, checked on Scully to confirm that she was still asleep, and stood up to search for his boxers. Barely into his underwear, he opened the door and was face-to-face with Emily.

His daughter appeared beautiful that morning – her hair was up in a tight bun, she was wearing corporate clothes, and platform shoes that made her an inch taller than her father. A few months ago, after reconciling with her husband, she decided to intern for WB as a way for her to make some sense out of her "new" beginnings. Jeffrey was more than supportive of her career decision, especially so since it coincided with Jeffrey being drafted somewhere in Southeast Asia.

For a moment, Mulder wanted to cover himself up with his robe, but in their heated lovemaking frenzy last night, he wasn't even sure where it went. He shrugged and ran a hand through his soft hair. "What brings you here this early, Em?" he asked, clearing his throat when his voice didn't come out right.

Emily smiled crookedly at him, shifting one foot against the other while her arms were steadfast behind her thin body. "Someone was up late last night …" she teased.

Mulder rolled his eyes. This was something he hadn't gotten used to just yet – his daughter egging him about his sex life. Scully and Emily had gotten particularly closer to one another since his "time-out" when he found out about a bit of his fiancée's past; the two even had weekly Saturday afternoons when they went to have lunch somewhere away from him. Even worse: sometimes, his mother joined in when she was in town. And Teena was frequently in town upon finding out that she was going to have another grandchild.

"Good morning to you too, Emily," he said to get rid of his embarrassment. He wanted to reach over and kiss her on the forehead, but was afraid to mess up her whole formal façade. "What's up?"

"The news broke today, Marita wanted me to tell. Here's _People_." Emily handed him the said magazine, which he willingly received. Suddenly, Mulder was face-to-face with THEIR faces: on the cover, Mulder was wearing a casual blue suit while Scully was in an orange dress that complimented her hair. The dress was also tight enough to reveal the bump she had been hiding from the media since they found out about her pregnancy. They were both goofily smiling at the camera, his one arm around her and resting protectively on her belly, while his other gripping her arm towards him. Scully's hair had been dried straight so that it further accentuated the way her pregnancy had softened her features. Beneath their bodies was the long caption: _We're pregnant! _Hollywood's hottest love story from the highest-grossing summer blockbuster _Danced Yesterday_ is expecting a baby! And sorry, ladies and gents, they're engaged! Story inside!

"On a Sunday, nonetheless," Mulder remarked, shaking his head, "How come Marita didn't call …"

"She did, Dad, about an hour ago. No one answered. It's already 11 AM." Emily rolled her eyes. "Are you and Dana planning to cocoon up in your bedroom for the rest of the day?"

At the sound of her name, Scully rustled behind him and he heard a "Morning, Emily!" from the bed. He moved a bit away from the door so that his daughter could greet her friend; Scully was wrapping the blankets around her naked body sleepily as she waved to his daughter. Emily waved back.

Mulder considered Emily's question and shrugged. "I guess. Weekends are for _that_," he emphasized, making his daughter smirk at him again. He let it pass. "Am I expecting calls?"

Emily placed a hand atop her chin. "Marita mentioned that ET, CNN, and some radio stations may want to call you up for further info … but nothing really to be panicky about. The story's out so we can all go out to the park and have some ice cream this afternoon. What do you say 'bout that?"

"Ice cream?" Mulder sighed heavily, knowing his daughter was pulling his leg. Emily still couldn't get over the giddiness of having a stepmother who was younger than her next year. She loved Dana, of course, but she loved annoying her father more. "Late lunch, perhaps? Where are YOU going, anyway?"

She stood up straighter at his question and brushed invisible lint from her suit. "I have lunch with Chance this afternoon. Meet you at the park afterwards?"

"Wow, climbing up the corporate ladder soon eh, Em?" He winked at her. CGB had always been patient with his family and probably saw it fit that Emily would be the next Mulder (or Spender) to take the reigns in WB. His daughter was quick-witted and street smart; she had bloomed into her own especially after recovering from the recent events in her life. Aside from this, CGB had been all out in his support for Mulder and Scully's pregnancy. He even offered his various summer houses as possible venues for their upcoming wedding.

Emily winked back. "He's like you, Dad, only softer and more relaxed."

"Ouch," Mulder replied, placing a hand over his heart, "you wound me, daughter."

"So, Dana," Emily peeked into the room, grimacing at the mess on the foot of their bed, "see you at the park later? Wear your skimpiest t-shirt, shall you? Let's give the press some shots that'll get them paid until their December bonuses?"

From the bed, Scully laughed. "Okay, see you later, Emily."

"I don't know why I even bother talking to you." His daughter wagged a finger in the air at him. "When it's so much easier to talk to my soon-to-be-stepmom." With that, Emily exited the room and closed the door behind her. Mulder shook his head at his daughter's comment and trotted back to the bed.

"Look, it's out," he said, sliding the magazine into Scully's hands. Once she had it, she began to leaf through it, grinning at some of the kooky shots they've done, like when they made funny faces at the camera or when he tried to jam her engagement ring into his own pinky finger.

Still grinning, Scully brushed off a curly strand of hair from her face and read out loud from the interview: "Fox Mulder has consistently been in the TOP 50 bachelors of Hollywood since he began to produce movies with heartthrobs like Harrison Ford, Sean Penn and Rob Lowe. He is not one for the attention though; it was brought onto him unexpectedly when he doubled as the spokesperson for a difficult movie shoot back in the late 70's. Suddenly, people wanted to know who this young producer was and their hearts were crushed when they learned that he was married with a young daughter.  
"It wasn't meant to be though: when Mulder (as he preferred to be called) announced his divorce a few years ago, women literally started lining up to become the next Mrs. Mulder. Unfortunately, the producer resisted everyone's advances and, to Hollywood's best knowledge, had rarely gone out for dates. It seemed inevitable that Mulder and his sexiness would remain to himself and no one else's – he was destined to be a bachelor for all time, much to the chagrin of all the ladies out there. Then, Warner Brothers decided to give Mulder his directorial debut and as expected, the brooding heartthrob went at it with all his heart and soul." Scully gazed up at him through an amused expression. "Really, Mulder? The women started lining up at your doorstep?"

"They tried, my lady," he purred, running a hand over her belly, "they tried."

She chuckled then returned to reading the piece. "All his heart and soul was an understatement – Fox Mulder, of all places, met the leading lady of his dreams in the pre-production of his smash hit movie, _Danced Yesterday_. There, dancing in his friends' studio was the feisty redhead Dana Katherine Scully. The rest, they all say, was history. 'I've never met anyone like her,' Mulder now comments as he watches his fiancée pose for her individual photo shoot, 'you think you're done with marriage and children after a challenging one you just finished. You think you're okay with your career and a gorgeous daughter by your side, to be alone and your own damn person. Until you're faced with one woman who tells you to fuck off and you think, no, I'm not yet done. I'm not yet okay. Until I have her, I won't be.'" Scully placed the magazine down on her lap and smiled at him. "That's sweet, Mulder. I didn't think you said that while I was getting dolled up."

"I'm just as eager to read what you have to say about me, Scully!" He snatched the magazine from her and lain back on the headrest. Opening one arm, Scully cuddled against his body and snaked an arm around his midsection so that they were reading the magazine at the same time. As they read from their interview and sniggered at some parts that they were reading for the first time, Mulder felt that his life was dawning into a new era – one that involved Scully and hopefully, a brood of many little redheads in their wake.

Scanning the pages until he zeroed in on a quote from her, he read out loud and ignored Scully squirming within his embrace. "When Dana Katherine Scully first was acquainted with Director Fox Mulder, she wanted nothing to do with him. 'He liked his liquor,' she says now as Mulder takes his turn in front of the camera. While he moves around and makes silly faces, to which Scully laughs at, she continues, 'it was a long night and the last thing I wanted was a drunk man propositioning me things he thought I needed in my life.' She pauses when her fiancé raises his collar and stares at the camera in a brooding manner. That is the stare that launched a thousand girls at his doorstep, and one which obviously has its own tight grip on the British redhead. 'But then he truly cared about what I wanted and was interested in me. He cared enough to want to bring me home that early morning. It was as if he saw someone beyond the dancing; it was as if he saw _me_.' She smiles and pats her stomach, now almost six months in. 'They say you can pinpoint the exact moment you fall in love with someone – with Mulder, it never was exactly clear when I fell for him. I just woke up one day and felt that a switch was flicked somewhere; that this man, whom I despised at first, was suddenly the only man I could ever imagine myself with.' Scully sighs, softening, an unusual sight for the infamous ice cold stares and comebacks that earned her the hated nickname _Spunk_ around Hollywood. 'He's my first love,' she admits in a whisper as Mulder finishes his shoot and starts to move towards us, 'and he'll be my last.'"  
The magazine closed. The air around them was heavier but comforting. Mulder glanced down at Scully, who was still nestled in between his arm and who was now staring up at him expectantly. He understood what she was waiting for and he decided that he would go ahead and give it to her:

"You may not be my first love, Scully," he started, his voice straining in the mid-morning air, "but I swear you'll be my last." Lifting the hand that was around his waist, he kissed her knuckles tenderly. "I swear on my Father's grave."

Scully nodded, letting him lavish her hand with his lips. "And I swear on my Mother's."

He also nodded in agreement. They would be married later, much later, when she was comfortable enough to fit into the wedding gown she wanted and when he was comfortable enough to carry a baby on his arm without worrying if he'd hurt it or not, but as far as he was concerned, the real marriage happened that morning, in his bedroom, in the Manor, in the presence of each other, because as they agreed months ago, that was all that truly mattered.

* * *

Before meeting up with Emily in the park, Mulder brought Scully to a nearby restaurant for lunch and wasn't surprised when the paparazzi and media were there to welcome them. Though they were gracious enough to smile for the cameras, they requested a seat at the back of the place so that they could eat in private. Scully hated her appetite lately; she complained about a bitter taste at the back of her throat (which she assured him once more as something 'normal') and this delegated her to eat in smaller proportions of anything that was sweet. That meant pineapple on her chicken or a chocolate cake before main course. She missed her healthier lifestyle and the dancing that could keep the calories of what she was eating down. So, it was like a game of hide-and-seek whenever they ate: Mulder had to keep his eyes to himself while Scully guiltily ate what her body asked for. Imagine what kind of psychological torture the media outside would come up with if they snapped them during their strange dining exercise.

When they were done, they grabbed some ice cream sandwiches to go and proudly sauntered off outside, where the media were still there to snap more pictures of them. Scully showed her bump off proudly by opening her trench coat to reveal the thin white cotton shirt and leggings beneath. When the cameras snapped, she ran a hand across her belly to show off her engagement ring. Mulder waved at the media and acknowledged their 'congratulations' with small nods. The bodyguards assigned to them by the WB were there to ward off the media when the couple moved to a shady part of the park. Emily was already waiting for them there, together with John, Monica, and the toddling Lucy. Upon seeing them, Emily gave them both kisses on the cheek and proceeded to ignore him by linking her arm with Scully and leading her towards Monica. They all sat down on the grass and passed Lucy around with giggles and cheers when the little girl was able to walk on her own without falling down.

Mulder and John settled on the bench across them, opening the small cooler and grabbing the ice cream sandwiches. They both peeled off the aluminum foil and feasted on the snack in silence. When they were done, John pursed his lips to the cooler. "I hope there's beer there," he wistfully remarked, making Mulder chuckle.

"Sorry, my party-animal-friend, no beer in here."

"Wow. Times have changed." John shrugged and rested his stiff back on the bench, then sighed. "You ever thought we'd be here, Mulder?" He motioned to the three women and baby still laughing with each other on the grass. "The last I remember us being this contented was when we snorted heroine up our noses inside our college apartment."

"You're assuming I'm contented," Mulder teased, speaking through the last mouthful of his sandwich.

"How could you not be? Look at that girl you have. You're getting married and having a baby next year … you're daughter's doing well at WB and she's back with Jeffrey … hell, Dana looks better now that she's pregnant." John scratched at an invisible spot on his nose. "She was getting way too thin after filming. Oh, and your movie's a hit."

Mulder acknowledged John's cataloguing with a smirk. "She couldn't keep food down for a while before we found out she was pregnant. Don't get me wrong, John: I love that girl and I'm would gladly give my life for hers if she asked me to. But you know how it is when everything's going perfect …"

John cocked his head to one side, not quite sure of what Mulder was saying. "You mean, you're expecting something to go wrong?" he asked, his voice above a whisper as if making sure that the women couldn't hear what he was saying.

The Director didn't answer. Instead, he diverted the topic: "What's up with Krycek?"

Momentarily confused by the change in their conversation's direction, John took a moment to answer before hunching his body towards Mulder. "He has a movie in mind, according to our snitch at his studio. He's working on it after having to scrap his Danced Yesterday clone. But he wasn't happy, Mulder. Really wasn't happy. Don't worry, we have your back," he assured his friend, patting Mulder on the shoulder to express his point.

It was that time when Scully stood up from the grass. She placed a hand on both Emily's and Monica's shoulders to push herself up and waddled towards where Mulder and John was. John took the clue and offered his seat the pregnant redhead. Scully thanked him with a kiss on his cheek and plopped down beside Mulder. Immediately, he offered her the ice cream sandwich and she accepted her share with excitement. Soon, she was digging into the snack with an urgency that he had seen ever since she got over the morning sickness last month.

While biting into her snack, Scully made a comment that threw Mulder off track: "I think it's time for me to call them." The bulge in her cheeks made it hard for him to understand her so he asked her to repeat herself, which she did after swallowing her food.

Understanding, Mulder gazed at their surroundings. He watched his daughter hug Lucy as the toddler tripped on her feet and landed into Emily's arms; Monica leaning on John so that she could stretch her cramping legs on the grass; the leaves of the towering trees slowly swaying in the cooler breeze of Los Angeles; the cloudy skies hiding the majesty of the sun but unable to keep its rays from peeking through. He breathed in the heady scent of the city he loved all his life and exhaled the air back to it. Change was coming, he could feel it from both the city and the woman who sat beside him. Change was coming, and he had no choice but to welcome it.

"Do you want to see them?" Mulder offered, his eyes still closed. "You should see them before Dr. Parenti doesn't allow you to travel anymore."

"I'll pay for my fare," she quietly answered, making Mulder's eyes widen in shock. Before he could open his mouth to protest because he was planning on paying a private plane to send her to Wales, Scully shook her head and tucked the ice cream sandwich's wrapper back into the cooler, "No, Mulder. I'll go first class if that'll make you feel better, but I don't want you to spend money on unnecessary luxury. We have a baby on the way and that's more important than this little trip."

"Okay," he agreed, cautious, "do you want me to go with you?"

It was a full minute before Scully answered and Mulder thought that he was going to die of a heart attack.

"Yes, but let me go first. Give me a week with my family. Then, you come and meet everyone."

Mulder nodded, still cautious, because he knew how much strength Scully had to muster for her to invite him to go with her. It was the end of the road for her at that point: she was ready to finally let him in and allow him to see her past – warts and all. It was the end of the road for Mulder too: it was time for him to allow himself to completely trust her and himself in their relationship. It was time for them to grow up together.  
Scully moved closer to his body and allowed her to slide close to him until she had an arm wrapped around his waist. He cradled her body close, thinking of the baby she was carrying and the future it assured them of, and kissed the top of her head. In front of them, Lucy toddled back to her parents while Emily clapped her hands in glee.

* * *

"I'm telling you, the script has potential."

"I'm not sold yet, Walter. YET."

"If we get Brad Pitt to star as the lead, will you go onboard?"

"Make it Harrison Ford AND Jodi Foster. I'm in."

"You're driving a hard bargain, Mulder." Walter paused when they ascended up the front steps of the Manor. "You're leaving in a week. I'm trying my best to negotiate here with you."

"You ambush me as I was dropping off my fiancée in the airport for a nerve-wracking, mind-numbing, soul-crushing one week apart BEFORE, before, I can finally fly off to meet her in Wales. Then, I meet THE family. The family that got us in a lot of trouble back then, remember? I'm on pins and needles here, Walter. Don't expect me to make a decision about that script just yet." Mulder unwrapped the green scarf from his neck with one hand, and reached into his pockets with the other. He exhaled loudly, watching the air from his mouth form a white slope in front of his face, and looked around the vicinity of Beverly Hills. It was close to midnight and the palm trees swayed in the chilly breeze that wafted from the low-lying clouds that accompanied the bigger-than-usual moon. It shone above him, sinister in its proximity to the ground, making Mulder want to enter the warm confines of his home faster than usual. The temperature had dropped overnight in Los Angeles last week; lately, it had been cooler than usual and he had to resort to using ugly sweaters his mother insisted on gifting him with every year. He usually spent his winters in Martha's Vineyard, so all of his winter apparel had been stacked safely there. However, with the fast-paced changes in his life (welcome or unwelcome, of course), he instead wrangled Teena to fly to LA for the holidays.

Then, a month before her flight, he dropped the bomb on her: "Hey Mom, Dana's going back to Wales … for a while. I'm going with her … after a week. We'll be back for the holidays."

Her only shocked reply was: "How far long is she again?"

Gee thanks, Mom.

Grasping his keys clumsily (more so due to his ugly gloves) and catching Skinner grimace at the dinosaur-pattern on his sweater, he shoved the key into the door's hole and shook his head when his friend still refused to answer him. Yes, thank GOD there were no paparazzi in the airport. He didn't want to catch his parade of ugly sweaters on the National Enquirer or People the following week. "Look, Skinman, I want to have the baby first before deciding on anything huge for my 'career,'" he made air quotes, pushing the door open with his shoulder, "for all you know, we may be moving to Vegas next year after Scully's given birth."

"Las Vegas?" Skinner exclaimed, running a nervous hand over and out his baldness. "What Vegas?"

"Folies Bergere wants Scully back for a three-year-contract, depending on negotiations. We got a call a couple of days ago." Mulder shrugged, blindly reaching in and groping for the light switch. "She also has a guest spot on Moonlighting again. They're thinking of making her a recurring character after she gives birth … and another movie in the horizon. It depends on her, you know. If she chooses Vegas, we stay in Vegas; she chooses Hollywood, we stay here."

"If she chooses Wales?"

The question, innocent yet prodding where it was most tender, hit Mulder right in the solar plexus. That was something they never considered as a couple – he had assumed that once they got married, they would inhabit Mulder Manor with their baby. It was as plain and simple as that; they had gone through hell and back with complication and at this point, he needed a reprieve. Give him his white picket fences and the Mulder clan, ASAP. Not Wales, not anything else. Not her past – not yet, no. He had a week to prepare for all that.

Mulder opened his mouth to answer – "Look," but was cut off when he realized that the lights in his Manor were already open. Jenny was at Emily's house and no one else was supposed to be in tonight …

He swung the door wide open and his eyes bulged out of his sockets when he saw who was sitting on his beautiful cream-colored couch:

Alex Krycek. With the one person he trusted with his life and whom he had given another chance when she messed up a few years ago – Marita.

"What the FUCK are you doing here, Krycek?" he turned to Marita, and didn't back down when the pretty blonde averted her eyes away from his, "Why did you bring him here?" To both of them: "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE. NOW!"

Skinner was able to maneuver Mulder into his house so that they could shut the cold gusts of wind behind them. Once inside, the Director strode towards his enemy and in one easy swoop, had him up against the wall near the fireplace, his hands holding onto Krycek's jacket and piercing the man with his gaze. Marita flew up and pulled Mulder away, while Skinner tried to separate the two men apart.

"Mr. Mulder, listen to Alex! He has something important to tell you!" Marita screamed into his ear, but Mulder refused to listen. He could only see red. This man, this guy, had cost him one trusted person after another: Marita, at first, and Alvin Kersh. When he spread all those terrible rumors about him a couple of years ago, it was only CGB who had Mulder's back against all the other members of the WB board who wanted to get his ass. He was alone, desolate, and he had nothing against him except the love of his daughter and the audacity to never quit. What did this asshole have up on his sleeve this time? He was too busy for this Krycek charade and he was putting an end to it now …

"STOP IT, MULDER!" Skinner growled; he was momentarily shocked and the older Producer took this opportunity to pull him back and away from Krycek. His former friend raised his hands up in surrender, indicating that he meant no harm, then straightened his expensive leather jacket.

"I need to talk to you," Krycek said, unsteady. He locked gazes with Marita for a split second too long that Mulder felt the blood rush to his head once more.

He turned to his assistant. "Marita? You're still seeing him?" he accused, the pain evident in his voice. Her silence was enough answer for him. "I trusted you …" he trailed, peeling off his gloves and tossing them to the coffee table in front of the fireplace. Suddenly, he was so tired. Too damn tired. Packing with Scully, making sure she had all her prenatal pills with her and taking her to Dr. Parenti for one last checkup before driving her to the airport; waiting for her flight, the emotional baggage of having to say goodbye to her and his unborn child …

Mulder plopped heavily on the couch, on the exact spot where Krycek was sitting on before being attacked. He closed his eyes.

"You two go. I don't need to hear anything from both of you."

"You do," Krycek replied, his voice closer than expected. Mulder still didn't move and kept his eyes closed. "It's about Dana."

His eyes flew open. His back suddenly became stiff as a board and he saw that Marita, Krycek, and Skinner were all crowding around him like an unlikely Three Wise Men. He motioned for them to sit, surrendering to his fatigue. He wanted nothing more but to let Krycek say what he thought he needed to say and them shove them out into the cold November air.

They all settled themselves on the available chairs. Mulder sneered when Krycek sat on the opposite end of the couch he was on. "Sorry, but I don't have iced tea to serve you all."

"Mulder," Krycek cut him off, "this is important. Look, whatever shit happened between us happened already. It's all in the past. I'm doing fine."

"His movie's coming out next year and its starkly different from yours, Mr. Mulder," Marita chimed in, which grated Mulder's nerves furthermore.

From his end and sitting on a small coffee table chair, Skinner grunted. "Choose your side carefully, Marita," he warned.

"Going to my house without _my_ permission isn't exactly showing me that you're fine, Alex."

"Just listen, Mulder – geez, you can be so bullheaded. Even impending fatherhood doesn't change that, apparently –" Marita hushed him, but Alex continued, "I'll admit: I was pissed off a few months ago when your movie skyrocketed. I asked someone to do a little digging …"

Skinner threw his hands up in exasperation, as if asking the heavens why they were listening to this crap. But Mulder's interest was piqued, to say the least.

"I forgot about it, okay? My movie picked up and I was busy. Until my private investigator approached me today with some information I think you should know. Look, Mulder, I may have been an asshole to you before … but …" his former colleague stole a glance at Marita and she blushed. "I want to make things right before getting married."

It was Mulder's turn to throw his hands up in the air. Great. This was a fucking engagement party, it seemed. "Where do you want me to send the congratulations bouquet?" he deadpanned.

Alex ignored him. "He dug into your future wife's records in Wales and found out a couple of things … very well-hidden things …"

"Spill, Krycek."

"First, that she was married."

Mulder pinched the bridge of his nose. His head started to throb. "WAS married?" he clarified, his heart thumping like a bongo drum against his chest.

"WAS – she's widowed. And the circumstances of her marriage are strange, Mulder. She was married at the age of fourteen."

"WHAT?" Mulder bolted upright from the couch and faced Krycek with his hands on his hips. "If I find out that you're lying about this …"

The other Director lifted a thick envelope from the coffee table, which Mulder only noticed at that moment. "These are yours, okay? You can have them. I don't want anything to do with them because it's a lot of shit and honestly, it's your mess to fix. Before the media gets a whiff of it."

Mulder grabbed the envelope and set it aside, very eager now to hear the rest of Krycek's story.

"So yes, she was married at the age of fourteen … widowed at seventeen. Her husband died –"

"Gunshot wound to the face?" Mulder supplied, finding all the few facts he knew about Scully clicking into place. "Allegedly, he was killed by the three other Scully siblings?"

Krycek nodded, their eyes meeting in awe. "Yeah, allegedly. But that's not all, Mulder …"

"What else?"

"Marita told me Dana decided to go back to Wales."

"I-I just dropped her off and saw her board her plane. I'll be with her in a week. What's going on?"

"She may not be safe there." Krycek breathed deeply, looking like he was truly concerned about Spunk. Maybe, Mulder let his brain speak out, he truly was. "You see, the marriage could have only been consented by her family because she was underage. The Scully family in Wales is a prominent family. When Dana was thirteen, they fell into financial ruin because of her father's mismanagement of the family business. They sold some properties and stuff, the usual, but they were still in debt. So Dana was … practically, umm, sold into the marriage. The dowry saved their family's fortune."

Mulder felt sick to his stomach. The white walls of his Manor spun around him and before he could comprehend, Skinner was directing him to sit back down on the couch. The Producer mumbled something about getting water and left the living room.

Weakly, Mulder turned to Krycek. "What was the name of her husband?"

"Billionaire Don Pfaster. It doesn't look good, Mulder. There were persistent rumors surrounding him about being a … sick man. If her family sold her into that marriage, how safe could she be with them now?"

God, Mulder wanted to throw up. He wanted to so bad, but there was nothing to throw up. He also didn't have the strength to force himself to retch.

"The miscarriages she suffered are also highly suspect. The first, at five months, had happened after she was rushed all bruised and bloodied to the hospital. She was discharged to her sister, Melissa, after her physician refused her to be discharged to her husband, since there were suspicions on what happened. But that was swept under the rug, of course. The next was an eight-month old fetus that was delivered dead in the Scully Mansion. A month after that incident, Pfaster was dead. Dana … was, is, the sole inheritor of his fortune." He pointed at the files. "There's more in there. Dana's … been in and out of hospitals all her life."

_Jesus. It all makes sense_, Mulder's brain screamed. His whole body felt like jell-o on turbulence.

Skinner tilted Mulder's head so he could take a sip of the cold water. He nodded his thanks to his friend and settled back down on the couch. The walls had stopped spinning, thankfully, but his stomach still rolled around as if it was clawing its way out of his body.

It _really _all made sense now – the nightmares she had suffered, her fear of hospitals, her anger, her Spunky attitude, it all made painful sense to Mulder. The woman he loved, the woman he swore to be with forever … she was broken and bruised in places that were never meant to heal.

But then she HAD healed. She had loved him back. She wanted to spend forever with him, too. Something in her had changed; something in her had been brought back to life.

Mulder's insides calmed down, remembering what Scully told him months ago when he proposed to her for the first time in Paris.

_I gave her back her youth_. He brought her back to life and kept her alive.

Of all the people she could have had, of all the people she could've loved, she chose him. She gave him the responsibility of having her. Dana Katherine Scully gave him the responsibility of loving her. And he wasn't going to throw that away, no matter what she thought her past made her or how she thought he would never love her after he found out about everything.

With an eerie calmness overtaking his senses, Mulder burned his eyes straight into Krycek's soul. His former friend moved around in his seat uncomfortably, exchanging nervous glances with his girlfriend from the other end of the living room.

"Why are you doing this? Why now?" Mulder demanded, instinctively reaching in his pocket for sunflower seeds and cursing silently in his head when he found none. Instead, he busied his fingers by playing with the loose thread on the hem of his ugly sweater.

Krycek sighed, long and deep. "I've watched you two on TV. Marita tells me all about you and Dana." Feeling awkward and looking like it, Krycek also fiddled with the patterns on the couch. "I've known you since university, Mulder. I've known you when you _had_ to marry Diana. I've seen the look on your face when you introduced me to Emily, back when she was born. I-I've never seen that look on your face again … until I watched your press conference to announce your relationship with Dana. When you kissed her and unexpectedly she kissed you back, you had that same look on your face the day I saw you in the hospital with Emily." Krycek's voice lowered, "I didn't want to mess with that, man. Whatever I do will not take away what you feel for her … and I don't want to. I remember, back in our apartment in Harvard, we talked about finding _the_ one. Remember that?" Mulder smiled in response, despite of the crisscrossing emotions in him. "This is it for you, Mulder. This is it."

_Yes,_ Mulder thought, remembering the night Scully proposed to him. This, him and Scully, was indeed _it._

Mulder smiled one last time at his former friend and regained enough strength to start formulating a plan in his head.

"Walter," Mulder whispered gruffly, sitting himself up straight, "you think you can score me a private plane that'll take me to Wales tonight?"

Everyone's faces in the room became unreadable, but Skinner recovered first by standing up and walking towards the phone in the living room.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER FORTY SIX**

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter is for all the old fans of Spunk and those who tirelessly waited for this story to be completed. Now, in a few chapters, the end is near!

Post Script: All the feels with yesterday's ep. Did this chapter answer some of your questions about the whole story (and maybe brought on the feels, too)?


	50. Chapter Forty Seven: Wales

**A/N: **This is it, dear readers. _This is the end_. More of my notes at the end of these four chapters!

* * *

**CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN:**

* * *

Milford Haven, Wales  
November 17, 1986  
Monday

If it wasn't really fucking bad enough that he had to endure almost twenty hours in flight just to get to Cardiff (and this was in spite of being on a private plane courtesy of Walter), he had to dream about _her_. The Scully dream-version he hadn't seen in over a year … she came to his subconscious while he was sleeping somewhere over the Atlantic. But this time, she glowed – it wasn't the pregnancy glow that his Scully had been sporting since hitting her second trimester, no, it was different …

She was literally glowing _yellow_.

The pond was there once more, it was summer, but it was so cold. In the dream, he wore scarves and a thick wool jacket, much like he was when he boarded the plane, but he was still chilled to his bones. The lilies swayed around him, softly at first, then quickly, as if they were being picked up by a tornado, and before he could run away, they dropped heavily onto the ground right in front of him. Suddenly, she was there. She wasn't pregnant anymore – at the back of his brain, this scared him, but he couldn't move or talk. Scully was on the ground, her back to him, her feet crumpled against her chest, her clothes torn and ragged. She was crying.

Lifting her chin, tears streaked down her dirty cheeks and he noticed something – she was younger, so much younger than the first time he met her. "Help me, Fox," she whispered, and that was when he woke up with a scream. The two stewardesses onboard stared at him with concern for a moment, until he apologized and they went back to the galley.

It was cold in Cardiff - much colder than Massachusetts and of course, a whole lot more than Los Angeles. He didn't realize how adapted his body was to the hotter side of the pond until his nose twitched upon hitting the frozen air. The chauffer assigned to drive him to Wales was there in an instant with a cardboard cutout of his name. He only had one suitcase, mostly stuffed with newly-bought winter clothes he asked Marita to get him, but the most important part of his belongings was one piece of paper that was obtained by his daughter through connections in the WB. He showed the elderly driver the address and wasn't surprised when the man's bushy eyebrows shot up.

"We're going to this area?"

"Apparently," Mulder replied, his breath forming white before his already-irritated nose. "It's near a harbor, I think?"

"Why, of course, old chap! The Milford Haven Waterway – you'll be gobsmacked to see this beaut!"

"You know the house?" Mulder prodded as they walked to the car. When the driver placed his luggage inside the trunk, he nodded imperceptibly.

"I'm not from Milford Haven, but I know that area. And I may have a vague recollection of that house and the fellows that live in it." The engine started and Mulder buckled himself in the backseat. "Scully, am I right?"

"Yeah, yeah!" Mulder replied, a bit too eagerly, he supposed, but he didn't care. He was lost in between time zones: he wasn't really sure what time it was now and he was surprised that it barely mattered to him. There was a faint light coming from the horizon somewhere, so it must be sunrise or something … or sunset. Whatever. He knew there was an eight-hour difference between LA and Wales, but was too tired from the long flight to compute.

"Well-known family around that area. You ready?" the driver chirpily asked. Mulder nodded and looked at the driver's eyes through the rearview mirror.

"How many hours until …" he didn't even have to finish, because the driver held up four fingers. Mulder suppressed a groan and looked out the window, where gray mountains in the distance greeted him.

* * *

It was even colder in Milford Haven, he learned too late. The Waterway was indeed "beaut," yet it also blew cool winds to every direction. Mulder was an American popsicle and his nerves were not helping him.

Before him was one of the biggest houses he had ever seen, and this was a generous observation since he lived in Hollywood. The walls were made of pure brick and they seemed to span from one block to the next; the house must be over six blocks long or longer, he couldn't really tell from where he was standing. The doors were huge, a bit medieval for his taste, and intimidating as shit. The windows were also all draped by thick red curtains, so he couldn't see anything inside. He searched around for a doorknocker (seemed appropriate), found one, but also found a doorbell. He rang once, finding it more difficult because of his frozen fingers. He looked back to see his driver giving him a thumbs-up. He smiled wanly – that was when the door abruptly opened with a humongous creak.

In front of him was a butler: an honest-to-fucking-goodness butler, with the high uptight nose, white gloves, and a tuxedo. He was shorter than Mulder, but he did scan him from head-to-toe while the Director gathered his voice box to cooperate with him.

"Hi … I'm Fox Mulder and I'm here for Dana Scu-"

The butler's head twitched into what looked like a nod and moved out of his way to let him in. The hallway inside, which led to God-knows-where, loomed at him like a labyrinth that was enticing him to hell. "You are expected," the butler croaked with a low-pitched voice, and Mulder raised an eyebrow. _He was expected?_ How was that possible? He wasn't due for another week in Milford Haven and Scully had told him he should be patient …

"By whom?" he had to ask, the fucking ass persistent guy he was. _That's so bloody you, Mulder_, he could hear Scully say in his head.

The butler had no answer. He only took the suitcase from Mulder's hand and waved him in.

_This isn't a house,_ Mulder bemused while walking through the hallway where there were portraits of obviously dead relatives in old British army uniforms for the men, and the women in different states of luxury – one with flowing violet gown and a velvet chair, another outside in a garden looking prim and proper with tea in front of her. Each one had a coat of arms behind them – something with a sword, a thick rope, and a cross in between that … Mulder shook his head. The cross seemed similar to Scully's pendant. That necklace, _Cadsburr_, as his jeweler Mr. Tennyson had mentioned.

The last portrait there brought Mulder to a complete stop.

It was the same photograph he had seen from Scully … the one of her mother, the one with the song's lyric at the back of it … Margaret stared back at Mulder with her piercing blue eyes, much like her daughter's, and he stood frozen in front of it. It was eerie, as if she was speaking to him somehow, someway.

The butler had to clear his throat to remind him to keep moving.

The hallway opened up to what he assumed was the living room: dark blue carpet, wall to wall thick red draperies, a fireplace with the same coat of arms framed in gold atop it, elegant velvet furniture. There were few toys scattered around – some guns, toy soldiers – and Mulder remembered Scully telling him about Missy being pregnant when she left. All the cold vacated Mulder's system and he felt faint. He held his ground, though. He didn't want to risk looking stupid in front of _the _family.

The butler started to take his coat, something Mulder wasn't used to, and as he turned to tell the butler he could do it himself, he spotted another framed poster across the hall – it was one of the earlier promotional posters for _Danced Yesterday_, one that showed Scully leaning into Pendrell. He liked the shot particularly because they were smiling candidly at each other, faces flushed, during one of the more difficult dancing sequences that his stars shared. They finished the scene, leaned against each other mid-pose to rest, and he ordered the on-set photographer to take a shot of them.  
It made Mulder wonder how updated her family was of what had happened to her at the other side of the pond … though, of course, with her present condition and all the press conferences they had been doing as a couple, he wouldn't be surprised if they showed up with a shotgun to his head. He was scared shitless, but he was too tired to actually show it.

The butler disappeared, along with his bag, much to his chagrin. Before he could protest, a woman's voice came from the hallway: "Mr. Mulder." It wasn't a greeting, much less a command. It didn't sound surprised either.

He turned around and was face-to-face with a tall redhead. She had Scully's eyes, unmistakably so, but her face was smoother around the edges. She had a child on her hip, a small brown-haired boy, but then a maid (in complete uniform, Mulder noted in awe) took the boy away. She acknowledged him with a gesture to sit.

He did so on the thick cushion of the couch, running his hand on the fine velvet. "I take it you're Melissa?" he inquired, voice even.

"And I take it that you're my sister's fiancée. It is nice to finally meet you," she retorted, taking a seat on a single velvet chair across him. Mulder noted that her accent didn't seem as sharp as Scully's.

At the corner of his eye, he saw another maid throw logs into the fire and then disappear into one of the many darkened hallways.

Melissa curled her fingers on her velvet seat's arms and crossed her legs. "She stopped writing a few months ago. Now, we know why." She had a wry smile and a dimple that reminded Mulder of Scully's own, only that Melissa's was deeper.

He knew she was referring to Scully's pregnancy, and he opened his hands as if to apologize, but wasn't really sure of what to say. He wasn't going to apologize for the best thing that ever happened to them, even if she was the youngest Scully or something. Instead, Mulder sighed, feeling the weight of his body crashing down. "Where is she?"

Melissa opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by a grumpy male voice behind him. Mulder craned his head towards his back and saw a tall, stocky redhead who had the same piercing blue eyes as his Scully's. He was followed by a younger man, also muscular, but thinner. This man was more relaxed, subdued, than the first. The first man regarded Mulder with an air of superiority and sat down near Melissa. The other stayed behind and called to a maid. "Bring us something to drink and eat, Veronica. Yes, thank you," he said in a singsong voice, then moved to sit down beside his brother.

"This is Bill," Melissa pointed to the one with piercing eyes that seemed to want to gut Mulder alive, and then to the younger one who smiled at him like a lunatic, "and Charles." She shot Bill a sharp gaze. "I'm speaking on behalf of us: we're really pleased to meet you."

"Yeah, the pleasure's the same, I'm sure. If I'm not showing it, the twenty-four hour journey to get here sucked the pleasure out of me," Mulder deadpanned. Charles' smile widened and Melissa cracked a small grin. "Dana warned us about your sense of humor," she admonished, then made a tinkling _Ah!_ when yet _another_ maid brought in a plate of cookies and hot tea.

The maid handed Mulder a cup and he didn't hesitate to take it, warming his fingers by wrapping them around it. He took a sniff and decided it was _Earl Grey_. He sipped, rolled the hot liquid around his mouth a bit to wake him up, and put it down.

"You're not used to our winter here in Wales," Charles noticed, raising an auburn eyebrow. Mulder shrugged. What a fucking understatement.

"That's why I decided to live in Los Angeles."

"Let's cut this bloody bullshit," Bill growled, pointing a cookie at his direction. Mulder's spine straightened at the territorial tone of the eldest brother. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Bill, Dana mentioned that Mr. Mulder will follow after her arrival," Melissa calmly said through her tea. Mulder immediately got the impression that she was the pseudo-leader of the siblings, though she didn't rub it off on any of the boys. "I'm curious though as to why you are here a week earlier."

"Probably couldn't wait to bonk Dana once again!"

Charles leaned back and laughed a little. "Brother, they're engaged! She's already pregnant and wondrously so!" He took a bite of his cookie, in a dainty way that told Mulder he had learned how to do so in many, many elegant parties. "Whether they are bonking or not is none of our business. He has taken good care of her on the other side of the pond, anyhow."

"Excuse my brother, Mr. Mulder," Melissa said, placing her teacup on its saucer, "he's always been a bit protective of Dana."

"Where is she?" Mulder once more demanded, a bit firmer this time.

"You'll see her, in due time," Melissa replied, "she's safe, if that's what you're worried about. She is with Nana, our longtime help. She wants to make sure we get to talk to you first."

"We're positive you have questions in your head that you are dying to ask us," Charles supplied, biting and chewing on his cookie before continuing, "because you are here a week earlier than expected."

"Is Dana aware that I'm here?" Mulder asked, scanning their faces. Melissa curtly nodded, her red curls bouncing off her forehead.

"We've had a help inform her."

"Let's get this bloody interview going," Bill sighed, seemingly giving into the mood of his two other siblings. He loosened up enough to take another biscuit and chew through it, eyes locked on the crackling fire a few feet from him.

"Have you seen all our press conferences? Our interviews?" Mulder began, knowing where he wanted to start but not knowing how to start it, afraid of being taken as rude by his fiancée's family.

"Most of it," Melissa answered, "we do not watch a lot of television here. But I was in London a couple of months ago and … I watched a few. I saw the movie. It was wonderful."

Mulder cleared his throat and decided to go straight for the kill, literally: "Tell me about the … alleged murder."

Everyone tensed: Bill stopped chewing, Melissa placed her tea down on the table, and Charles lost his eternal smile. Yet again, and he Mulder was not surprised, it was Charles who first relaxed with a twitch of his clear blue eyes. "To do that … we have to start from the beginning."

"Go ahead," Mulder encouraged, keeping his hands on his lap to stop them from shaking. In his chest, his heart pounded mercilessly and he was almost afraid that the three siblings could hear it beneath the room's static.

Apparently not. Through a mouthful of biscuit, Bill continued on. "It wasn't intentional. But it did happen."

Mulder's blood ran cold. His ears caved in – for a moment, he couldn't hear a thing – until Melissa began to talk once more.

"At fourteen … Dana was married of by our father to a billionaire, Donnie Pfaster," Melissa said the man's name with a hiss to her tongue, "Bill and I were away for university and Charles …"

"I was beaten to a pulp so I don't say a thing," the young Scully finished with a smile. Mulder inwardly shivered.

"Our father was not a good man, Mr. Mulder," Melissa softly said, and all three of them shared a curious look. Mulder was about to call them on it when she proceeded, "Dana was married off without our knowledge to save our fortune that had been squandered away by our father's mismanagement. And the man she married … he wasn't good either."

"He had held Dana in a room and …" Bill's voice broke, and Mulder could see the tears shining in his eyes. "… and he … abused her there. Every fucking day and night."

Mulder's gut bottomed out. His feet were numb, as if he couldn't feel the ground anymore. For one second, he wondered where he was – was he still in that same dream over the Atlantic? Was Scully-dream about to come through the fireplace and cry out for help once more? Was this really even happening?

And like any other nightmare, he was frozen in place and had no choice but to listen: "His abuse continued even if she got pregnant when she was very young. She wanted that baby," Melissa whispered, wiping the tears that came to her eyes hastily with a napkin, "but he hurt her so bad she lost the child … she did not even know she was pregnant. She was _that _innocent."

"It was then that Missy and I decided to come home," Bill said, locking eyes with his sister. She nodded, then looked at the carpet. "We were going to end this once and for all." She stared up and this time, locked eyes with Mulder. The hair at the back of his neck stood up.

"We don't doubt your love for Dana," Melissa said, her voice steel and cutting, "as you shouldn't doubt our love for her."

"We did what we had to do," Charles interjected, staring at his hands. "Father … he was wasting away the fortune that was the payment for Dana's hand in marriage. Soon, we would be penniless and all her sufferings would be for naught."

"There's a fucking reason for everything," Bill supplied. Melissa sadly agreed. "We had to … get rid of the smaller problem first, before the bigger one …"

"We Scully, we fix our own problems. If Dana was difficult to deal with and if she has not shared her problems with you until now, it's because that's the way she's built. She's a Scully," Charles proudly said, until his voice lowered, "It is easy to kill someone if you do it for the one you love."

It was then that Mulder began to sob.

As if happened everyday in front of her, Melissa wordlessly handed him a napkin. He accepted it and wiped his eyes.

"Do you want us to go on?" Melissa implored. Mulder barely nodded, but they caught it and told the rest of their tale.

"The next part was tougher. When father died it was easy to conceal. We wanted to save Dana … then she got pregnant again."

"The stillborn?" Mulder was able to croak out. They didn't have to answer him.

"It was a girl, a beautiful girl just like her and our Mother." Melissa lost interest in her tea and she abandoned it on the table in front of her. Its dark grey liquid swirled, illuminated by the fire's reflection. "I did not want her returned to her husband … goodness, I didn't want it. So I kept her in this house. Until he came and he demanded for her."

"He threatened us and our reputation. He threatened to kill us all," Charles said in a faraway voice, as if he could see the same scene playing in front of him.

"We wanted to save Dana, she has suffered so fucking much, so I …" Bill faltered. Melissa reached out to touch his hand. "Bill took the shotgun, but I fired the shot. He died on the spot."

"It wasn't easy to hide the crime," Charles shook his head, "but we did it. We can't divulge how … but we were able to do it."

"You need to know these things, Mr. Mulder, before you marry our sister," Melissa stood up and sat down beside him on the plush couch.

By that time, Mulder was too weak, too emotional, too confused to even flinch when Melissa took his hand into her own and cradled it near her stomach. A gasp escaped his throat when he tried to control his emotions.

"Mr. Mulder, Dana has endured so much for this family. She was broken, so broken, when Pfaster died. We thought she could start her life again, but she locked herself in her room and danced furiously. She only came out to visit our Mother's grave. We knew she would never be happy here in Wales. Her peace is not here. Too much memories, too much pain." She deeply sighed and Mulder felt her stomach flutter against his knuckles. "That was when she left. I tried to stop her, I did … however, she needed the space, the distance, to be out on her own. She needed to find herself after all the horrors of her young life. We tried to take care of her the best we can – it was easy to find out all about you once she provided us with your name." Melissa's eyebrow raised, much like Scully's does, and Mulder gave a pitiful nod to acknowledge that he got what she was talking about.

"We thought she would never … be happy again," Bill admitted, reaching up to wipe a tear from his eye.

"And then we saw her a few days ago after almost two years and amazingly, she is the most beautiful pregnant woman we've seen in a while!" Melissa laughed, in the same genuine string of _hahahaha_ that Scully had, Mulder noticed. "She looks even better than I did when I was pregnant!"

"Don't feel bad, Mr. Mulder, you're good for her," Charles retorted, to which Bill grumbled against. The elder brother was silenced by Melissa's stern voice: "And if you want to marry her, we're very happy to let you do so. Los Angeles is where she wants to be." Then Melissa's grip on his hand tightened. He snapped his head up to meet her clear blue eyes.

"But you should talk to her first. There are things that Dana needs to tell you herself. And she told me yesterday that should you come earlier than expected, she's ready to tell you everything."

"Everything?" Mulder parroted, the fear gripping him once more.

"Everything," Melissa assured him, letting his hand go. "How much do you love our sister?"

"Undisputedly." Then, after a heartbeat, he said, "I have waited for her for forty-one years. She's my home."

Again, the three siblings shared teary-eyed glances at one another. Finally, after a long pause, Melissa placed a hand on his shoulder. "You should go and see her, then."

* * *

In Wales, the wind howled in a peculiar way outside. It sounded like a banshee at first, then it would syncopate into a rhythm that he was afraid only he could hear. The howling permeated in his brain, assaulted his senses, and almost made him trip as he walked out of the huge Scully mansion. Yet, he could not deny the raw beauty of it all: the mountains in the distance, the cliffs he passed by as he was driven onto the dirt road that led to the mansion, the ocean. He understood how Scully could miss Milford Haven, despite all the horrors she experienced in it.  
Melissa told him to follow the cobblestone steps, which he did with difficulty since they were partially covered in thick snow; soon, he was in front of a glass house with flowers in them – wait, not just flowers, _lilies_. There were rows and rows of yellow in the glass house … and in the midst of it all was the love of his life.

She was there, and he was here. Her unruly curly red hair was tied up in a messy bun, with tendrils of red falling on her flushed cheeks. The corners of her lips were turned up into a mysterious smile as she gingerly trimmed the dead leaves of the flowers. She was wearing a green scarf and a thick black sweater that didn't hide the enormous swell of her belly. He stood frozen outside, watching her cut a dead leaf, pick it up with her gloved hand, and laugh at something her companion – an elderly woman – was telling her. It was a mesmerizing sight to behold and he remembered, with fondness throbbing in his chest, that same girl who refused to let him enter her dressing room back in Lone Glitter. That same girl who stared back at him from the burgundy couch of that ratty bar with her big blue eyes and those goddamn shoelaces she kept tying again and again so that they'd be perfect - that one who threatened to "tie his balls behind his waist" if he even tried calling her _Spunk_.

That same girl is a woman now. She was still feisty, but her feistiness had been tempered down by the pure unadulterated joy she shared with him. She only became Spunk if it was to scold him about his expense reports or to tell him to stop being so bloody persistent … or maybe at times in front of the paparazzi. She also wasn't too careful about mess anymore – the past few months had been a flurry of different things in their bedroom and she oftentimes didn't care if she fixed it before she slept or not. She just let things be: "Relax, Superman," she once whispered to him after making love one morning. His subscription to the Daily Inquirer came (he wasn't sure why he had a subscription to it) and he read an item that alleged THE Fox William Mulder's attempt to date an older, more beautiful woman from the WB. He was so enraged he almost flew off the bed – one, he had been with Scully for a prenatal checkup when the alleged "date" happened; two, they had barely been apart since making up after their disastrous fight in the hospital. With the phone in his hand to call Marita, Scully eased him back to the bed by kneading his shoulders. "Relax, Superman – don't bother," she hissed, rubbing her slightly-rounded belly on his bare backside, "you'll be wasting your resources to negate news that isn't true at all. Let them speculate," she clasped her fingers around the hand on the phone and dragged them to her mound. His body immediately responded, and as if in a trance, his fingers dipped into her slit, where she was still wet from their previous lovemaking. "We have other, better things to do," Scully said, afterwards dipping her tongue into his ear for a preview of what was to come. "Stay with me here."

He learned early on, from the moment he woke up in Vegas and saw her face hovering above him, that he loved complying with her requests.

Without hesitation, he let himself inside the glass house. The warmth attacked him as he did, and he had to adjust his breathing before he could straighten up enough to remove his coat and hang it on the coat rack that was beside the door. Scully turned to the commotion he was making, smiled her lilies-and-carnations grin when she saw who it was, and placed a hand on the back of the elderly woman beside her.

"Nana, this is my fiancée, Fox Mulder." She leaned into Nana's ear to whisper, "but you should call him Mulder. He has tantrums when you call him Fox."

Mulder chuckled, as did Nana. The elderly woman who had the kindest brown eyes Mulder had ever seen greeted him and shook his hand. However, rather than breaking their handshake, Nana pulled him in for a big hug.

"You've taken such good care of my Dana," she whispered in his ear, voice quavering, "thank you."

When they broke off, Mulder reassured her in return: "She took care of me too. I would either be in the poorhouse or wandering LA with a concussion if she were not around." Nana's only reply was to smile at him, her eyes crinkling at the sides. Turning back to Scully, she declared, "I reckon Matthew may need me now."

"Go, Nana. It's fine," Scully replied. Nana gave Mulder one last smile before putting on her coat and leaving the glasshouse.

Mulder devoured the next logical step: to sweep his fiancé into his arms and try to carry her as much as he could without squashing the belly between them. Scully sighed happily, burying her nose in his neck, murmuring, "I missed you, too." It was only then he was cognizant that he actually said those words out loud.

When they broke apart, Mulder shrugged towards the rows of lilies. "I would've brought you flowers, but … you sure beat me there."

She laughed, music to his ears. "There's tea here, Mulder. I've asked Christine to bring us some while you were still talking to my brothers and sister. Come," she beckoned, taking his hand and pulling him to the end of the glasshouse, where there was a clearing for a white garden table and some chairs. While wondering which one of the many maids he had previously encountered was Christine, he pulled a chair apart for her, which she struggled some to get into because of her stomach, and sat opposite her. In silence, she served him tea (_green_, this time) and biscuits. The silence they shared was comfortable, much like the silences they sometimes shared in the Manor after a long hard day; he would be cooking her favorite _pasta primavera_ (spaghetti, she'd always argue) and her feet would be propped up on the coffee table while reading the latest medical journal (or a magazine with Aerosmith or Moonlighting on the cover).  
Halfway to his tea, she broke the comfort and shifted in her seat, looking down on her half-eaten biscuit.

"There are a lot of things I need to tell you."

He didn't answer; only encouraged her with a hum.

Scully removed a tendril of red from her face. She seemed pale all of the sudden, and she bit her lip nervously. "A lot of things I owe you since I met you." Mulder placed his cup down and reached over the table to hold her clammy hand. Scully smiled, her dimple showing. "It's about time you know all about me. It's about time I stopped … running. Away."

They both nodded their heads in agreement. His grip on her hand tightened.

"Mulder, I once told you that my Mother had a friend … the real love her life, Mr. Billy. I told you he died early on, before she could marry him. That was, that was bullshit. He didn't die. It was a story Nana told us so that we'd never doubt our Mother's virtue." She deeply sighed. "He was always there. He was there when I, I was born."

_Oh._ Mulder raised his eyebrows. That only meant one thing: "Is he your father?"

Scully's smile turned wry. "Yes. The necklace I wear is his … a gift for my Mother."

The portraits of Scully men and women in the hallway flashed back in Mulder's mind. The coat of arms that got his attention, he recalled that the cross that was there, too. What did that mean? "Scully, I saw your coat of arms … the cross was there …"

"My father is my Mother's cousin, first cousin," Scully blurted out, and she heaved her chest in, as if she had been waiting to tell him all this for the past two years. "That's the reason why they couldn't get married. They wanted to, oh God, they did. However, the family was against it so she was married off to the first boyfriend she had in university. For a while, it worked. My Mother thrived in being a housewife, she tried, but when my father came back from the military, they rekindled their romance once more. And I was … born." Scully shook her head, alarming Mulder with the tears that angrily rolled down her face. He made a move to wipe them away, but she continued talking, so he stayed put. "It wasn't long before my Mother's husband found out. I was two years old."

It crashed in on him: her Mother's death … that wasn't from any illness like he deduced beforehand, either.

Jesus Christ.

Mulder's stomach flip-flopped, but he held onto the woman he loved. She needed him now, more than ever. He needed to be there for her; he had an inkling that the story was going from bad to worse.

"He didn't treat me kindly when Mother died. She was my only protector and my father was so depressed when she died he disappeared from Milford Haven. My Mother's husband, Duanne, he was very abusive. He knew I wasn't his and he hated me for it. There were times, nights, when he … he'd go into my room and hit me for no reason at all. I don't know what he wanted from me – maybe he saw too much of my Mother in me or it mocked him, how I looked so much like her as if, as if I didn't _even_ have a father. I was the proof of her infidelity, but even I cannot be proof enough." Scully's lower lip quivered. In reflex, Mulder stood up, dragged his chair closer to hers, and directed her to rest her head on his chest. He had to; he couldn't let her tell her story alone. She had been with him for the past two years as his constant, his touchstone. Now that she needed him, he had to be there for her … and it was from his warmth, from his touch, that she always relaxed. He wanted to readily give her that now.

Through his chest, she continued talking, "I was scared to sleep, scared for what the night might bring. The physical pain … I could take that. I'm a Scully. I could take that, no matter how young I was. But the emotional pain, of not knowing the truth, of why … that hit me hard. I began to sleep in Melissa's room, but she couldn't protect me because Duanne would threaten to hit her, too. Bill tried to protect me, too, and he got hit quite bad until Duanne sent him to university so he wouldn't intervene anymore. The scar I have," Scully ran her hand down her rounded stomach, and Mulder remembered that scar he was so fascinated with during the early stages of their relationship, "it was a scar of gratuity. I _begged_ Bill and Charles to kill me when Duanne permitted me to go hiking with them. I begged them so bad, but they relented and I fought for that knife. Charles panicked … that was when I was cut." She shook her head at the memory. "When that didn't work, my only escape back then was to dance." She stared up at him, her eyes seeking his understanding. "That was when the nightmares began. They only intensified when he gave me up for marriage."

"Oh, Scully," he hissed, feeling her pain through and through his skin. Christ, what she had been through, he couldn't even imagine at all.

"For a while, I thought it was salvation: I was leaving this dreadful house behind. But Donnie was even worse – he locked me up in the master's bedroom all alone and, and … left me there for days. A maid would only come everyday to bring me food and water. It was psychological torture – I almost lost it back then. The only things that saved me were my babies." Scully's voice changed into a steel timbre, making him shiver. "I wanted those children. I wanted them so bad. But he took them from me. When I lost the stillborn, damn it, I never even named them …" she buried her face into his chest once more, "I left it all to my siblings. I knew what they wanted to do and I let them do it. I knew what they did to Duanne. I let it all happen. Because I wanted to die, too."

"Darling," he encouraged her, hoping that somehow it helped ease her painful journey … because it surely did not ease the painful, prickly throb in his chest.

"And I felt dead for a while, Mulder. I did. Throughout the trial, the court case, the endless attempts of my siblings to make me feel better – acting and dancing classes, medical school, this glasshouse," she threw her hands up to the air, her eyes fondly scanning the expanse of the room they were in, "everything, they tried so hard. But I died inside. I was dead, and inwardly, I hated them, too. I thought they should've done more; they should've done enough before all the shit that happened to me happened. I thought they had my marriage's blood money and were enjoying it, too. I had nothing, I was left with nothing – not even my children. I thought all those terrible things. Until my father came home and, and we met for the last time." She fingered her necklace, "he was dying and he wanted to see me. It was the last push – my last hope, for a new life. It was when I decided to go to Las Vegas." She pulled up and held his face in her hands. "But goddammitt, for some reason, there was no available fucking plane to Vegas so I ended up going to Los Angeles."

They snickered, despite it all, they really did snicker; Mulder placed his forehead against hers until their breaths mingled together. He felt Scully taking one last deep breath, as if releasing all the pain she had inside, and then she spoke with a softer voice, "You saved me. I never saved you. You SAVED me." Her lips met his in a touch so light he could've imagined it. "Every single night, you saved me. Every single nightmare, you were there. Every single morning, you were there – whether you wanted to be or not. I have a lot of healing to do, but I've begun because of you. I'm _still_ here because of you." Another kiss, lighter than before. "This is the woman you're marrying, Mulder: your Dana Katherine Scully, your _Spunk_, your darling, your fiancé, the mother of your child. I am this woman. I wish I could be different, I wish I could be better for you, but this is who I am. Take it, or leave it."

_This is it,_ he thought, _the mark on the map that said, "You have to quit. It is time to for you to stop." _The silence surrounded their shaking bodies, engulfing their very souls, and he drew her against him until they were again one molecule – until science itself couldn't bring them apart.

Mulder pressed his lips on hers, firmer this time, and he closed his eyes as his thumbs stroked the roundness of her waist. "I used to dream about you before we were together. I dreamt about you every night … in a pond, where there were lilies everywhere. And you were so beautiful, you looked exactly like your Mother in the photograph you showed me." He kissed her at the corner of her mouth. "Scully – Christ, I wish I could call you Dana but, but you started this last name thing," they both grinned wide, "Scully, where I live, Los Angeles, may seem to be all about me: my Manor, my family, my friends, the studio, my script, my movie. But the story is all about you. It IS about you. You're my story. I wouldn't want it any other way. So take me, please. Let me help you heal, with our child. Let me give you the family you want. Let me be everything you lost when you were young." He directed her head so that they could look at each other eye-to-eye; she scanned his eyes, searched for something in them and must've found it, because she smiled the smile that made him understand how he never knew what he needed until she came along. In that smile, Mulder saw her – the woman he always knew was there from the beginning. It was not Spunk, that girl who shouted at him in Las Vegas and ran away with the touch of his lips; it was not Scully-girl, the little lady who begged for him to stay in her bed when the nightmares came. It was not even Dana Katherine Scully, the movie star who signed autographs of young girls in leg warmers outside the restaurant they ate in or would give the paparazzi an extra wink when he was exasperated with them all.

No, this was Dana Scully. This was Scully as a whole woman, the woman she worked so hard to find on her own in a foreign country. This was the woman she was meant to be, after all.

He sighed a huge breath of relief. It was going to be okay. They were going to be okay. They will push forward, together.

"There used to be a pond – it was where I ran off to when it all got too much, before Donnie married me. Missy told me it dried up a year ago. But my Mother's grave is there, so with my father's. I can take you there tomorrow morning so you can see it for yourself." Scully's smile widened, her dimples carving on her cheeks, and unshed tears reflected in her eyes. As her eyes crinkled, they dropped on both their skins.

Mulder agreed to see the pond, but he didn't need to see it for himself, he already saw it in his dreams.

And maybe this was all a dream - this reunion, this wounded honesty, this chance for her to heal. Maybe it was all a dream, Mulder thought, as he caressed her belly and they melded their mouths together to kiss. He tasted biscuits, salt, lilies and carnation. He tasted the woman he was going to marry, the one he had waited for so long. Maybe it was a dream, all of this.

But God help him, he did not want to ever wake up.

When they broke off, Scully coursed her mouth to his earlobe and whispered, "Then, after tomorrow, take me home." It warmed his blood, tickled his heart, and he knew that this was finally reality. This wasn't a movie anymore. This was he and she: the Director and the Spunk, living their life together.

"Where's home, Scully?" he had to make sure, for the very last time.

Scully drew back, placed a hand on her stomach, and nudged his ankle with her foot. "Wherever your bullshit is." She winked.

_Some Spunk will never change_, he decided, and winked back. He stood up, beckoned her to do the same by gently pulling on her arms, and when Scully did, he held her tight in a bear hug. He sniffed her hair, that familiar Scully-scent, and thought of the mornings he'd wake up with her and the evenings he'd sleep with her.

"Last rule, Scully," he whispered, "I made this up when we first slept together. You know what's my last Spunk rule?"

"Oh, Mulder," she sighed, "What's that?"

"It's to love you forever."

Scully, his beautiful Scully, threw her head back and laughed a genuine string of _hahahas_ so loud it echoed in the glasshouse. Mulder chimed in, and soon, they had tears in their eyes like children with uncontrollable fits of the giggles.

Standing there, in the middle of the glasshouse and out in the coldness of Wales, Fox Mulder had finally found his way. He was never getting lost again.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN**

* * *

**A/N: **For my one and only Stella, who has brought on this beginning and gave me a reason to strive for the end.


	51. Chapter Forty Eight: Letter to Wales

**CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT:**

* * *

Dear Melissa,

This is my last letter to you and the family. I believe whatever that was needed to be said was said a few months ago back in Wales … I also think that whatever that was needed to be ended was ended then, too.

I want to start anew here in Los Angeles with Mulder. So, before I completely leave it at that, let me tell you this, and do share it with Bill and Charles:

Thank you. I have never thanked you before for what you have done … but now, I think I am big enough to accept what had happened and to finally thank you for protecting me that last night. You may not say it a lot, but I know that you three love me just as I love you. I looked up to you, Melissa … to you and your demeanor, your maturity, your strength. Bill has always been ready to take me out of the house when I felt I needed some air from your father, Duanne, and Charles was constantly ready to remind me that I was still a child. I love you all so much it hurts that I felt so alone, as if none of you ever acknowledged what Duanne and Donnie had done to me. I know you had your reasons. Just like I had mine when I decided to leave Wales.

I could never take back the life of my babies, I could never turn back time to fight back against Duanne or Donnie, I could never turn back time to stop you three from shooting that fatal gunshot. We can only move forward with what we were left with. I had to move forward, Melissa, and I couldn't do it there. Wales will always be special to me, but it will never be home, you see. I'm not sure if I can ever _truly _feel home anywhere.

But maybe it is time for me to try.

I gave birth a three weeks ago to our baby boy. Melissa, you should've seen Mulder's face. He was so happy - I told him that he looked happier than when I agreed to be the star of his movie! He laughed at that, and then looked at me with his hazel eyes so clear they were like liquid diamonds. I understood, as I watched him coo the baby to sleep at night from the hospital bed, that I was still meant for good things in life. That this blessing, this man and my new family, was something I truly deserved.

I have never felt like this before, Melissa. I have always thought no matter how far I run away from my past, it would always catch up on me in one form or another. I have always felt that the darkness would find me. Mulder continues to disprove that belief every single day.

I named our baby William, after Mulder's father – a man that my husband admired so much. We now want to fulfill his father's wish for him to have a big family. We may not have white picket fences in the Mulder Manor, but we are guessing that the "clan" we're planning to have together would more than make up for it.

I'm moving forward, Melissa. I have begun therapy for my past and I'm doing very well. Mulder and I are getting married in June; it's nothing big, just a quiet ceremony with close friends and family in Quonochontaug, Rhode Island. That's where Mulder's daughter, Emily, was married. It's what his father would have wanted, what I want, and we can also keep the paparazzi at bay there where it's private. It is my choice that no one gives me away – Mulder and I will walk the aisle together. William will be a very young ring bearer; can you imagine that? We're also planning to stay there for a couple of months while the Manor is under construction. We want additional rooms for the future of our family. This feels right, Missy. This feels good. I belong in Los Angeles; more than that, I belong with Mulder and our son.

Melissa, I hope that you find it in your hearts to forgive me, forgive your Dad, and forgive yourselves. We all deserve good things in our lives, together or apart.

I'll keep you in my prayers, _chwaer_. Always.

Love,  
Dana

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT**


	52. Chapter Forty Nine: The Reply from Wales

**CHAPTER FORTY NINE:**

* * *

11 May 1987

Dearest Dana,

We do not expect you to reply to this letter as much as we do not expect you to come back here to Wales. We know you're at peace there in America and we're very happy for you. If we had it our way, we would love to be more involved in your life and the life of your new family … but if you find that it bothers you or hurts you in anyway, we are more than willing to step back and let you move forward without us. We will be fine here in Wales. That being said, we're just across the pond, and if you need us for anything at all, feel free to contact us. We will be here for you if ever that time does come.

Maybe you're right – this was never your home from the beginning. Maybe home is there in Los Angeles where you are finding your own way through life. Maybe it was right to leave Wales, even if I tried to stop you before. Maybe this was how it was meant to end. I have felt it in me, Dana: the restlessness of your spirit. You stayed behind despite what Daddy did because you wanted to somehow protect us, because you were so afraid that he would turn on the three of us if you left … but look where it got you, Dana. I don't know how to say this and I wish I said this when you were here a few months ago, but thank you for your sacrifice. I hope it worked the other way around but you were like Mum. You both would give up your lives rather than watch others suffer around you.

So, my little _chwaer_, dance your life away. Dance like there is no yesterday. Maybe there is really no yesterday for you. Maybe that is what you need for you to find your peace.

Give my love to your son, William. And your future husband, do be kind to him. He is a good man and we saw how much he loves you. He loves you the same way you love Mum: unforgiving, unconditional, and endless. I can see that he will be yours forever.

Live your life, Dana. Until we meet again.

Yours,  
Melissa

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER FORTY NINE**


	53. Epilogue: New York

**EPILOGUE:**

* * *

#5 ABC Studios  
New York, New York  
13 October 2005  
Thursday

The floor lamps directly in front of them were dimmed, the people behind the cameras were settled, and the clapper that read _Barbara Walter's 10 Most Fascinating People of 2005_ hovered in front of them. With a throaty voice declaring, "Lights, camera, and aaaactioooon!" the clapper was sounded off, and the interview officially began.

"This woman in front of me had just arrived from Las Vegas a few hours ago, where she successfully celebrated her twentieth year of annually dancing for the world-renowned _Folies Bergere_. This 2005, she has appeared in a total of four movies – one of which, the critically-acclaimed _Slow Violence_, has garnered her an Oscar, a Golden Globe, and _many_ other nominations for Best Actress. However, what makes her a truly worthy part of our 10 Most Fascinating People of 2005 is the advocacy she has been fighting for since she became a naturalized American citizen ten years ago. Recently, she and her whole family have launched a charitable organization called _Free the Child_ where children from physically, sexually, and emotionally abusive families are given a chance to develop their talents and skills in order for them to overcome their trauma. She has also recently served as a UNICEF Ambassador this year, which allowed her to travel to some of the most devastated parts of the world to reach out to young, helpless children who are denied their basic human rights. Her most recent achievement, however, is seeing her son enter The Julliard School as both a musician and a dancer," Barbara Walters shifted in her seat and placed a finger at the bottom of the page she was reading from. "It is my honor and pleasure to welcome a truly fascinating woman: Dana Katherine Scully."

Scully smiled at Barbara. She couldn't help but blink at the lights that were shining directly onto her eyes, and now, twenty years into the industry, she still found it difficult to adjust to those lights' harshness. She stilled her irises and focused on the interviewer before her.

"Hi, Barbara. Thank you very much for having me."

"No, thank you for accommodating us," Barbara quickly countered, leaning forward on her crossed legs. "I understand that today is a special day for your family."

"Yes, it is, it is," she laughed, hearing her own faded British accent as she did so, "You know, that was a very generous introduction … I hate to have to say this, but you did leave out one of my favorite achievements in this twenty-year-old career."

Barbara's lips curled into a smile. "What is that?"

"My also twenty-year-old marriage to my husband," Scully said, reflexively fingering the golden band around her ring finger. "It is his birthday today."

"And how _young_ is he now, Dana?"

Scully could not help but grin. Interviews were quite common in her day-to-day appointments, but she still melted into a giggling schoolgirl whenever they would ask her about her husband. "He's sixty. A _very_ young sixty."

"Your marriage with Director Fox Mulder has always been the envy of most Hollywood couples – you have been together for twenty years! That is almost an eternity here in Los Angeles. Aside from this, you two have remained strong despite the numerous rumors and tabloid fodders surrounding your marriage. How did you manage especially during the time when you two had to forcibly admit your relationship to the public?"

"Oh God, Barbara," Scully sighed, placing a hand on her lip. That was so long ago, and she almost could not remember what had happened then, but there was a reason Mulder had helped her prepare for her interview with Barbara Walters: the woman was as tough as they could get in Hollywood. She composed herself and smiled once more.

"That was quite unexpected, honestly. We have been together, I believe, for six months and I was in Paris while Mulder was called back to LA for the editing process of _Danced Yesterday_. It was utter chaos in the tabloids at that time for they caught snapshots of us kissing outside the hospital. The press junket had to be set within the next few weeks and it was my first press junket. I was twenty-one then, so nervous, and here, the media simply … I felt attacked back then. But Mulder was there, he held my hand underneath the table … and we pulled through that circus."

"_Danced Yesterday_ was the movie that launched your career. Do you still watch it sometimes? Or do you watch it and think, _was that even me?_"

"We sometimes watch it, Mulder and I – my firstborn, William, has been watching it before to prepare for his Julliard audition. The dancing parts were easy to watch because I still dance a lot. It sure kept me in shape after so many babies!" Both women laughed, and Scully continued, "What is strange, though, is to look at yourself in a film that defined you all those years and see a young, scared woman. That was an uneasy yet exciting time in my life. I think the reason why the film worked so well is because my emotions were so raw when we were making it. I was scared, bewildered, passionate, in love, everything. It made the film work."

"And from that film, look at where you are now: you are getting so much acclaim with _Slow Violence_."

"I had to do _Slow Violence_. It was a story that resonated with me - a woman who had endured her father's abusive relationship with her mother first, and then with her as her mother's 'replacement.' John Doggett, my director, was very hesitant in offering me the lead in the film. He told me that he knew I was perfect for it but he did not know how to convince me to take it. He had to course it through my husband and we had to talk about it thoroughly. I did not want to go into that role unprepared. I did see my therapist a couple of times before finally accepting the role." Scully took a deep breath, smoothed her pristine white skirt, and stared at Barbara again. "It felt like exorcising all the remaining wicked feelings within me when I acted in _Slow Violence_. It was a good decision."

"Was your husband not jealous that you accepted John's film?"

Scully had to laugh. "No, no, of course not – John's a very close friend of ours. John and Mulder have been best friends since they were in university. We all help each other out."

"How is your husband now after he had won Best Director AND Best Picture in the Oscars last year for his film, _Mastery of Nature_?" The interviewer before her tucked a stray piece of blonde hair behind her ears. "What's his next project?"

"He's cooking something, I'm sure," she replied, emitting a lopsided grin that was quite similar to the one her husband would wear whenever they would keep a temporary secret from each other. "He wanted a year off to have time for our children. As he said, he was not getting any younger and he needed energy to chase after our five-year-old."

"Speaking of that – you have how many kids?"

"Seven – eight, if you include Mulder's daughter, Emily."

"How DO you manage?" Barbara threw her hands up in the air for effect. Scully shrugged.

"We take turns – Mulder and I – if he has to go on a project, I make sure I don't have a project at that time so that we can be with him and vice versa. The kids are growing up fast but we're happy that they still like being shuttled between shooting locations. William hesitates nowadays, but of course, he has to stay in New York now. As expected, Margaret – our second – wants to stay with her big brother. So we're carrying a _lighter _load lately. They're all good children, that's the most important thing, and that's why we have managed so well."

"Are they also your inspiration for _Free the Child?_"

"Yes, I believe … of course they are. But it started a long time ago when my husband chased me all the way to Wales when I was pregnant with William. It was there that I had come to terms with what had happened to me and I realized that I needed to move forward. If it were not for Mulder …" she trailed off, feeling the tears pricking her eyes. She inhaled more air, and continued, "if it were not for him, I would not know how I could have healed. It was easy to say that I left Wales to escape the horrors I experienced from my stepfather and first husband, and to spite my family because I felt that they abandoned me. But sometimes, escaping is not enough. The demons stayed with me even when I was in America. I knew I had to do something about it …"

"And that was when you entered therapy?"

"My husband and I made sure that we were both okay with that decision. I started the therapy when I got back from Wales, while I was pregnant – so it was a very delicate situation. Then, I continued it even after our wedding; I saw my therapist regularly over the years. It's good for me; it's good for our family. And what I got from my therapy is that I wanted, needed, to help other children who went through the same situation as I did. Mulder and I initially volunteered in organizations like UNICEF and other charities, but when the kids have grown up, it was our turn to start our own organization. That was how _Free the Child _came about."

When she finished her last statement, Scully saw at the corner of her eye that she had visitors. Behind the lights, camera, and the crew stood a tall and lithe young man who had chocolate brown hair and light blue eyes. Beside him and leaning her head on his shoulder was a tall redhead who had Scully's body back when she was so much younger, but of course, not her height. She acknowledged them with a nod and turned back to the interview on hand.  
Barbara knew that her children were there to pick her up, so the interviewer quickened the pace a little. After a few more questions about her upcoming projects, her plans as UNICEF ambassador, her family, her husband, the final query came:

"So, what is next for Dana Katherine Scully?"

"Maybe I should start using my husband's last name?"

They both laughed. At her peripheral, she could see both her children also snickering knowingly. They knew that was never going to happen; it was already strange that their mother and father both called each other by their last names, and they have remarked how much stranger it would be when _she_ would finally change her last name legally: Two people calling each other "Mulder" at home. _Great way to mess us up even more,_ the elder ones would all chime in jest.

"What's next," Scully started, "is I hope another kid. We're not done, yet. I know I'm forty but I can still have one more …"

This time, her kids loudly groaned.

She chuckled. "Mulder and I have always wanted a big family. That was his father's dream for him and I was more than happy to fulfill that for both of us. But what's next for me is to continue being happy as a wife, mother, dancer, and an actress. And to do all of these while helping others. That's what's next."

Barbara reached out and offered a hand for her to shake. She took it graciously.

"Thank you so much, Dana, and a happy birthday to your husband, Fox Mulder."

"Thank you very much, Barbara."

* * *

"Really, Mum, I don't know how you can manage with another kid."

Scully sighed deeply - deep enough to make sure her children heard her. "My God, William, this is a three hour drive to Rhode Island. Can we stop talking about the future baby?"

"_Future_ baby? It has an adjective now?"

Scully glared at the redhead who was buckled behind the driver's seat. Her second child, Margaret, was absentmindedly curling her hair around her finger. It was still early, 10 AM, and the sun outside was illuminating the auburn locks on her daughter's head. She looked like she was wearing a halo.

This was her life now: her teenage children ganging up on her, or most of the times, ganging up on her and her husband. William and Margaret, born only a year apart, were a tag-team. They were fierce best friends and would always have each other's back in the family. If one of them did something, the other would do everything to cover it up. It started three years ago and Mulder had tried his best to coax them out of this team effort. However, they gave up when they realized that as husband and wife, they were a tag-team themselves when asserting their rules on their children.

"Margaret," Scully warned, her voice deepening into what her husband called _Mummy-Scully_ mode. "That _future_ baby could be your future sister."

"Mum!" Both William and Margaret shrieked at the same time. She could not help but laugh loudly at their reactions.

"You two are so gullible," she retorted, then tapped on her son's shoulder. "Eyes on the road, William."

William sighed, smirked at her (a smirk he got from his father), and grabbed a CD from the dashboard. "Mum, how does Joni Mitchell sound to you right now?"

Scully absentmindedly played with the cross necklace she was still wearing after all those years. Without removing her eyes from the fast-changing landscape they were passing through, she nodded. "Bloody perfect, as long as it is _Blue_."

Margaret eagerly took the CD from her brother and inserted it into the car's player. Soon, the car was surrounded by the sounds of piano, guitar, and Joni's one and only voice. All three of them sighed at the same time for they all had the same unmistakable taste in music. This was probably one of the reasons why her two eldest children loved staying behind with her.  
It had been a strenuous day. From Las Vegas, the whole family took the earliest flight out of there to head to New York, where Scully had an interview scheduled with Barbara Walters. The other children left with Mulder early on while the older ones stayed and waited for her. She did not really want to do the interview today – not when it was her husband's birthday – but the family was going on a month-long vacation in Quonochontaug and that meant that they would completely isolate themselves from all things Hollywood. It was a yearly tradition the whole family enjoyed, one which Mulder and Scully still continued to honor so that they could spend some quality time with each other and with their children. "Pretty soon, it'll just be the two of us here in Rhode Island," Mulder had joked a few years ago before their youngest, Walter, had been born. They thought that they would be retiring early until their baby boy came unexpectedly, just at the exact moment the beloved Producer Walter Skinner had passed away.

When their youngest son was born, the insatiable urge to have more children overtook them once again and they have been toying with the idea ever since. Scully stretched her little feet onto the front of the car and thought about that … she was certainly not getting any younger and her husband (most especially) was not, either. But it was a risk that they wanted to take, as always, together.  
Whether the eighth baby would come or not, they were already blessed: William was a sensitive dancer from the start, someone who would excitedly take the male parts during her dance sequences in the Manor's basement when he was barely toddling; Margaret was an academic – she had aced her SATs the year before and Mulder had been quietly pushing her to take up medicine; Missy, who was born two years after Margaret, was beautiful, gregarious and outgoing … they both think that she would be the next actress in the family; John, who came just ten months after Missy, had always been quiet and/or typing away in his computer – he also was officially tasked to manage their family's official website and answer fan emails.  
The younger ones were also starting to hold up to their own: nine-year-old Bill who wanted to be Batman; eight-year-old Donna who wanted to be Wonder Woman (so imagine the ruckus when they get together); and five-year-old Walter who now wanted to be Superman. Which reminded her of something …

"Margaret, did Donna take her medicine?"

"Medicine for what, Mum?"

"Ferrous sulfate tablets. Anemia."

"Yes, Mum. Dad made her. She cried like sh…"

"Watch your mouth, young lady."

"… like bloody crazy." Margaret corrected, raising an eyebrow at her brother through the rearview mirror. At the corner of her eye, Scully caught William winking at her sister.

Tag-team. Tag-team, as always.

* * *

After five hours or no matter how long it had been, it was always in his arms that she felt the most at home.

"Hi, _cheri_," he crooned into her ear when she stepped into his hug. She relished the feeling of being squashed into his chest, into his familiar warmth, that which she had been living with for the past twenty years. She breathed in deeply the scent of his essential shampoo, the saltiness of the leftover sunflower seeds, and that cucumber cologne that they both loved sharing.

She felt his lips on her head, its spot eternal there, and then he murmured, "How was the interview with Barbara?"

Scully squeezed her arms around his waist, now flabbier than before, and lifted her head towards his until they met eye-to-eye. "You watch it and be the judge, Superman."

He opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by a small voice shouting, "Superman! Superman! Mama! Mama!"

They opened their hug to accommodate Walter, and the two other young ones followed suit: first by their confident Bill who was again clad in his Batman suit, and then their shy Donna who would gladly wear Wonder Woman's crown and bracelets but not the skimpy bathing suit. Above their heads, Scully mouthed, "teens?" to Mulder and he motioned his head towards the kitchen's bar, where the four teenagers were crowding around the dishes spread out there. Missy also loved to cook and was able to get good recipes from their former housekeeper Jenny before the latter retired – including the _improved_ and _creative _liver steak sandwiches for Donna.

They were both busy high-fiving the young ones when Missy's voice broke through their revelry: "Muuuuum, the older John, Monica, and Lucy's here … and William's blushing!"

"Shut up!" William shouted at his sister. Margaret chimed in, "Cut it out, Missy."

"William's got a crush, that's all!" John interjected - a rarity. Mulder and Scully shared a surprised look.

"Okay, guys, that's enough!" Mulder's voice boomed over theirs. Scully took the hands of the little ones and led them to the kitchen, where they were gladly received by a flustered William and a protective Margaret.

They welcomed John and Monica into their living room, kept their cake inside the refrigerator, ushered Lucy to spend time with the other teenagers (despite the obvious embarrassment of William), and sat down with a bottle of _Chardonnay_.

Scully found her space in between Mulder's outstretched arm on the back of the sofa and his side. She rested her head on his shoulder and turned her attention to their guests.

"So, my man, how does it feel to be sixty now?" John raised a glass towards his best party animal and handed it to Monica. Scully suddenly remembered that John was not allowed to drink wine anymore by the doctor and she offered some orange juice. John said he was fine and they all went back to their conversation.

"You tell me, John, how it feels to be sixty," Mulder squeezed her arm and she smiled. "You turned sixty a few months ago, eh?"

"_Mi amigo_," Monica said softly, "Don't remind him, he might go berserk again."

"I've accepted it, I've accepted it," John responded, raising his hands up in the air. Then he motioned towards Scully. "Wait, I'll accept it better if _you_ win Best Actress."

"You should win Best Director, first." Scully raised an eyebrow at their old friend. John chuckled.

"Well, Mulder, I think I want this …" he pointed at the shiny bald statuette atop the fireplace behind him. It was flanked by the family's photographs and was directly underneath a framed original poster of _Danced Yesterday_.

Mulder wagged his finger. "Nah, get your own, John. I think it looks positive, _mi amigo_."

"Well then, cheers to all these Oscar nominations and buzz!" Monica raised her glass in the air and the other three followed suit. They began to talk about their children's schooling and college expenses when the doorbell rang. Scully immediately stood up; as she did so, she heard her husband wince.

"I'll get that," she piped up to everyone, then to her husband, she whispered, "I'll be back, don't miss me." She kissed him on the side of his ear before leaving for the front door.

Upon opening the front door, she was greeted by a happy squeal. Scully almost squealed herself, but before she could, she had four little arms gripping her waist.

"Hey, Emily!" She reached over and gave her stepdaughter a hug. Emily, with her curly brown hair all gathered in a messy bun, looked a bit dazed. Scully knew for a fact that Emily had traveled all the way from California just to be with her _extended_ family for her father's birthday. Her twins, practically Scully's grandchildren too, were with her: Jackie and Samantha.

Scully immediately noticed that Jeff was not with Emily. She racked her brain at once, trying to remember if Jeff was in the war or not. Before she could ask, Emily already answered for her: "Jeff would come home in a week, so we'll be back here before the month ends to see you all."

Scully held the twins' hands and asked them if they wanted some ice cream. They both shouted 'yes!' and with Emily following suit, she directed them to the teenagers (or the official nannies of the night).

In the living room, Emily sat down with her Dad and kissed his cheek. They talked a bit about Jeffrey and his schedule, and before Scully could sit back down to her husband, the doorbell rang again and it was the Lone Glitter boys. Now, the party was truly swinging.

That evening, as they all squeezed themselves in the dining table, Mulder happily blew out the candles on four of his birthday cakes (one baked by Missy, the others brought by Emily, John and Monica, and then the Lone Glitter boys). They all had party hats and the teenagers were wearing glasses that had the shapes of 6 and 0 on them.

"Okay, I'm sixty, this is officially happening," Mulder said amidst the claps and hoots. "I'm happy that all of you could be here and spend it with me. And I'm even happier that you all here because I want to officially announce that _I do not feel sixty!_"

They all laughed. He continued on, "I feel blessed that all nine of my children are here … and is there another one on the way, Mrs. Mulder?" Their teenagers protested and Scully winked at him.

"But most of all, I feel the most blessed because of this woman beside me right here –" he gathered Scully in his arms and she happily wrapped her own around him. "- she has kept me honest, made me whole, and gave me the kind of family I have been dreaming about. I'm the luckiest man alive because of this Spunk -"

"Mulder," she complained. After all those years, she still had not warmed up to that damn nickname.

"- who married me and accepted me as I was back then. I said before that my final Spunk Rule was to love Dana Scully forever and that is what I'll do until I'm old and ugly. Okay, _cheri?_" He dipped his head lower to see her eye-to-eye, their most comfortable stance with each other, because the earth may shake and the heavens may break, but when they look at each other in the eye, everything would be all right. It was their bond, their seal of approval, their unique way of understanding.

"Okay, Superman," she answered softly, before gently meeting her lips with his. All their guests clapped and while they continued to kiss, their kids pulled them apart. They both grinned at each other and allowed their children to take them to the middle of the living room, where the dancing would commence as it always did after a Mulder family birthday party.

* * *

When she was eight, nine – she could not remember anymore – the Welsh midnight sky was her sanctuary. It was still vivid to her as it was before how, after being locked in her room by her Mother's husband, she would push away the curtains with a passion that she could only match through her dancing. She would place her palms on the glass and rest her cheek in between her fingers, trying to feel the cold air outside through the opaque barrier. Her head was always lifted towards the sky - that beautiful sky, with swirling diamonds and a round glowing plate in between it all – and she would wish hard and keep her eyes open despite the tears that came fast and sudden. She wished to be far away from where she was, to be outside where her Mother used to find solace by the pond, to be in London – maybe she could be a normal child there, to be in Las Vegas and dance with the _Folies Bergere_ like tomorrow did not exist, or to be in another country. She wanted to be anywhere else but home.

What did home mean, anyway? She often asked herself that question back then, for she did not feel at home in Wales, no matter how much she loved her country. She did not feel at home amongst her siblings, even after they finally defended her against her father and that monster he married her off to; more so, she did not feel at home there when she had lost her babies. Home was a construct, a place that she never deserved, so when she decided to leave for America, she relied solely on her innate confidence that she could never stay in one true place. She was meant to roam and search for the next stage to dance on.

Scully stared up at the expanse of the midnight sky before her, maybe similar to that sky of her childhood, and hugged the pillows she was carrying closer to her chest. Sometimes, she still asked herself that question: What was home, anyway? Was she ever destined to know?

"Scully, are you coming?"

Before her, Mulder was carrying a picnic basket, some blankets, and a comforter. He beckoned at her, flashing her that silly lopsided grin of his.

She smiled back. "Look at us: camping in our prime," she chided, following him towards the farthest area of the garden.

"We have not done this in a long time and anyway," he paused to turn around and waggle his eyebrows at her, "this is_ your_ birthday gift, Mrs. Mulder."

"Are you insinuating something?" She, in turn, raised an eyebrow at him as they reached the area of the garden which was properly covered by the apple trees and thick bushes. "Aren't we too old to do the dirty out here in the open?"

Mulder chuckled and dropped what he was carrying on the ground. She threw the pillows on top of the comforter.

"_You _may be too old for the public down and dirty, Scully, but I'll always be ready."

They stared at each other for a while before both of them broke into laugher.

Within a few minutes, they have spread the comforter across the grass, propped themselves up on the pillows, and were snuggled under the thick blankets. Beside them was the newly-opened bottle of white wine (_Moscato_, his secret favorite) and the wine glasses. They each took one and clicked them together before taking a sip.

"Here's to being sixty, eh?" she said through her glass. Mulder half-nodded, half-winked at her, then placed the glass back down beside the wine bottle. He implored for her to do the same and she did, returning back under the blankets within his arms. She sighed as they molded their bodies against each other, her back to his front – her favorite position, for she loved to feel his heart beating against her shoulder blade. He kissed her nape gently, and then draped a leg atop hers.

They let a few more minutes pass in silence while they together watched the midnight sky. Above them, the crescent moon barely moved. Scully blinked; she had never seen the night this calm and serene. There was nothing swirling, nothing obstinately glowing … it was just the stars and the moon silently staring back at them.

"Remember when we first did this camping thing?" Mulder whispered into the back of her neck. She shifted slightly so that they could look at each other in the eye before answering, "Yeah. Wasn't that after Emily's wedding?"

"And I was _angry_ at you."

"You were in love with me," she corrected, placing a tentative finger on his lips, "and you were angry because you could not tell me."

"No, that wasn't it –" Mulder kissed her finger and took her hand to place it near his heart. "… you were the one angry at me because I spontaneously kissed you back in Vegas and you were …"

"Surprised."

"… shocked. I remember you cursing me under your breath when I asked you if you wanted to dance during the wedding."

"But I danced with you, anyway."

"After which you proceeded to shout at my face."

Scully groaned loudly. "Because you were such a stubborn man who did not know when to quit!"

Mulder let out a soft _ha_. "There's my Spunk." He dipped his head to allow his lips to meet hers and they kissed, long and heady, until they were running out of breath.

She settled once again to look at him in his hazel eyes. Reaching up to smoothen the wrinkles at the corners of his face (ones which started sprouting a decade ago and yes, she loved counting each one of them because it meant that they were growing old together), she reminded him of another camping that they did in another state. "New Mexico … just after Missy turned one … do you remember?"

"Oh God," Mulder groaned this time, "can we forget?"

She snickered evilly. "We argued so much because you still packed me liver steak lunch when I _specifically_ told you not to and you knocked one of our water supplies to the ground!"

"It wasn't entirely MY fault – you also burned our dinner! So _I_ also had to eat that liver steak lunch!"

"Fine, fine … you asked me to cook when you were always the better cook!" She shrugged. "Then, when we were about to make love … Christ …"

"Jesus, Scully, do we have to …"

"You let out the largest fart in fucking history. I swear your arse must've shaken the earth."

"There, okay, you happy?" Mulder cried out, his voice raising a bit. She could see that he was blushing and she reached up to run her fingers across his hot cheeks.

To make up for it, she hugged him closer and whispered into the ear that she could reach in their position, "I've always been happy. For the past twenty years."

"Yeah, twenty years," he repeated, nuzzling her neck. "It's one hell of a ride, isn't it?"

"It has been fun."

"It will get better."

She reached up to pull her head down towards hers, so that they could once again see each other's eyes. She remembered when they first met how he had remarked that she could read him so easily, like a kindergarten picture book; she also remembered how she wondered why he would think that way, when all she had to do was look into his hazel irises and see everything there. In his gaze, she had mapped out the universe. In his gaze, the world made sense. His eyes could be as dark as the storm clouds on that fateful day she left Wales and as luminous as the daylight when it hit the skin of water that morning he chased her back to England to find her inside the glasshouse of lilies.

Scully traced Mulder's jaw with her fingers and marveled at the way he still looked at her after all these years: the yearning, passion, love, understanding, and raw honesty were all still there, just as they have all been from the beginning.

At that point in their life together, underneath the midnight sky she had loved so much, she knew this to be the truth: Mulder was her country. Wherever he was, was where she needed to be.

Spunk had finally come home.

* * *

**END OF SPUNK**

* * *

**E/N:** Fifteen years and finally, this. Thank you so much to all those who waited those fifteen years, rediscovered and reread Spunk, and most especially to those who are new readers of this story. I never realized how much I love Spunk until I was writing its Epilogue last summer. This is probably the story that sealed my fate as a professional writer – it isn't perfect and there are parts that I have wanted to change as I was reposting BOOK I, but I kept some as they are because I wanted to stay true to the fourteen-year-old girl who was eager to come home from school to be alone with her story.

And the most difficult decision was to keep the title as it is, despite its now more malicious connotations. Spunk is spunk for me, and that's the way it'll be. This was an amazing ride, one I thoroughly enjoyed as both a budding writer and a professional one now … I hope it was the same for you. _Let me know what you think via the review section_ and I may just have a short snippet of in-the-life-of-the-Hollywood-Mulders as a thank you extra chapter for all of you faithful readers!

Once more thank you for being with me on this long, long journey and yes, don't let the Spunk tie your balls behind your waist!


	54. A Bouquet for Seven

**TITLE: **A Bouquet for Seven  
**RATING: **Explicit. Absolutely so. Also, non-vanilla sex. Because you know, Hollywood.  
**KEYWORDS: **MSR, familyfic, AU  
**SPOILERS: **You need to be updated in the Spunk vocabulary to be able to enjoy this.  
**SUMMARY:** How did the Mulders handle finding out about their seventh child?  
**DISCLAIMER: **Chris Carter came up with their names. I came up with their children. All eight of them. So there.

**A/N: **This is for all you readers of Spunk, from back in the day up to the present. Hope you enjoy this one as much as I enjoyed writing it! And yes, bring the smut on!

* * *

Los Angeles, California  
18 February 2000  
Friday

Dana Katherine Scully woke up with a gasp that echoed in her ears. She felt like a truck had run over her. Her hand swept through the cold sweat dotting her forehead and it took a while before her eyes could focus on her surroundings. Finally, she could make out the white ceiling. The posters of the bed she was in … a single name tore through her synapses … she reached over at her bedside.

Empty. And cold.

She sat up so abruptly it made her head spin. Rather than lying back down, she pushed herself until her back felt the bed rest and gently laid her head on the familiar curve.

"Mum?" a voice across her whispered. Scully placed a hand over her forehead and opened one eye to take a peek at a light brown-haired boy with green eyes, who was watching her curiously from the foot of the bed. Before she could answer, she trailed her open eye around the room and assured herself that she was at home in the Mulder Manor. She was safe, fine, and needed, apparently, by the shy twelve-year-old who was waiting for her to respond.

"Hello, John, good morning," she opened her arms and her son climbed on the bed and hurled himself into her arms. It jolted her still frazzled brain, but she was happy with his show of affection. It wasn't everyday that their quiet John came into the master's bedroom in the early morning to ask for a hug, or gladly receive one.

"Yes, my love?" she asked as he buried his face into her neck. Scully sighed, held her tongue from asking about the other children (especially the teenagers who learned to drive their own cars just a few months ago), and enjoyed the feel of her soon-to-be-teenage son in her arms. Sure, she still had two young ones to do some growing up – Bill and Donna – but it was nice to still feel needed by the teens, as she and her husband termed their eldest kids nowadays.

As for her husband …

"Mum, is Daddy coming home today?" John inquired, in that same I-know-it-but-I-want-to-make-sure tone that Scully liked. He was smart, this John, but very insecure of his abilities. He loved spending time in front of the computer most of all, and Mulder told her to let him be since it seemed to be their son's calling. He had developed amazing designs for her and her husband's official websites and he was happy doing these for no additional treats.

"Hmm … yes, yes, my love. He's coming home today. Didn't we just talk with him last night?" she assured him, remembering the phone call and the ache she felt in her bosom when she placed an _x_ on the calendar to signal that he had been away for almost two months since he began shooting his latest movie in Canada. They've been there a couple of times to visit him, but it still was different to have him in their bed every single night so that they could laze around for a couple of hours before the children all woke up. She especially missed the mornings they woke up before dawn and still half-asleep, would make love without any inhibitions.

Plus, the past month, she couldn't leave LA. She had TV spots here and there for her latest movie that was coming out in summer. This was a rarity for their schedule to not be in agreement, and it couldn't be helped. Usually, when Mulder was away shooting, Scully and some of the children always came with him. It was also true for her – Mulder would make sure that he had no projects when she had one so he could take the kids with him and stay with her. Yet, pushbacks and delays with her latest movie made their tight schedule nearly inflexible, so they both had to deal. They hadn't been married for almost fifteen years for nothing.

Actually, she had been stressed by everything that was going on that even her body had responded dreadfully: she felt bloated and her joints ached at times. Jesus, she needed to see a doctor soon – something she regretted to inform her husband last night.

When John sighed a sound of relief into the side of her neck, she had a time check with the bedside table: whoops, eight o'clock in the morning. Had to keep moving.

"Love, we have to go. You're going to be picked up soon by the chauffer for school. Are William, Maggie, and Missy ready?" She patted him on the back and started moving out of the bed. John held onto her for one last time before breaking away to scratch on his buzz-cut head.

"I heard you this morning, Mum. You were crying out in your sleep."

"Oh," she replied, wracking her brain to remember her dream last night. Did she have a nightmare? Goodness, it had been so long since the last one … the last one was when she was pregnant with Donna …

A shiver ran through her spine. _No, I can't be pregnant_, she assured herself, _I'm on the pill. I'm fine_.

Evil Dana perched on her other shoulder to bitterly laugh at that. _Yeah,_ Evil Dana chided, _How well did that work out the first time, remember? Paris? William?_

She suddenly had the urge to check her calendar, but was pulled on by John. "C'mon, Mum. Let's have breakfast. Jenny's been cooking pancakes!" She glanced at her boy on the bed and couldn't help but return his smile.

"Okay, love." Scully snatched her robe from her dresser, where she tossed it last night, and shrugged it on.

* * *

Donna was on her lap – a shy, conservative four-year-old that was the complete opposite of her heroine, Missy. The latter was up in Jenny's face, as usual, asking about how the pancakes got so fluffy. Their longtime help was fond of the teenager, so she patiently answered everything Missy asked with a barely restrained grin. From Scully's lap, Donna stared at her elder sister with an eagerness that her mother only saw in her when they go to the beach or the toy store.

William, who was turning sixteen in a few months and seated beside her, was impeccably handsome. If it wasn't for his dark red hair, he would be a carbon copy of his father during the latter's younger years in Harvard: smoldering hazel eyes, olive skin, wide shoulders, a lopsided grin, and a penchant for making the women laugh. He was also a sensitive young man who was inclined to the arts – as she was – and had plans of getting into Julliard after high school. People often wondered how she still maintained her figure despite giving birth six times (of course, no one took in consideration how she and her husband had planned this family; the only real surprise was John, who came ten months after Missy!), but it really was with the help of William. The boy practiced his dancing so often and she was the usual partner in the same old basement that she used to dance in way, way before. When he got into Yoga, Scully joined him too and soon, they had Yoga weekends together.  
William had an indescribable bond with his smart sister, Margaret, but was especially fond of little Bill. Maybe it was the shock of red hair and the huge dimples on the sides of the little one's cheeks that William found so endearing, but he was patient with him like no other. That morning was no exception, since Will had taken it upon himself to help Bill with breakfast. Her young man cut up the food of his younger brother so that Bill could feed himself.

John stood up to ask for more pancakes from Missy. Seated beside her, Margaret stopped chatting with William and directed her attention to Scully. "Mum, who's driving you to meet up with Emily?" she inquired, sipping her orange juice.

Scully snapped out of her reverie, and handed Donna a piece of pancake with a strawberry on top. "I can drive myself, dear. Thank you for asking." She sighed heavily; her body wasn't still cooperating despite drinking some coffee.

"You seem buggered, Mum," Will observed, placing an arm around Bill's chair as the young boy pretended that his next pancake was Superman incarnate. "I can drive you to see Emily; I'm sure I can talk my teacher into letting me in late."

_The old Mulder charm strikes again_, Scully ruefully concluded, making her snicker in private. "Goodness, don't do that, William. How about this instead – I'll wait for the chauffer to take me to Formosa. We're meeting there for lunch. You can pick me up to go to the airport." Donna started toying with a stray strawberry. Scully halted her hand and in reply, the toddler cried, "No! Stwawbewwy!"

"Do you want to come to the airport, Margaret?" The teenager nodded; Missy jumped right in: "Me too! I want to see Daddy!"

"John?"

The shy one shrugged. "Sure." Bill suddenly raised his hands up in protest: "I want to come! I want to see Daddy!"

"You see Daddy after your painting classes, Bill … and you, Donna, see Daddy after your ballet," Scully reminded them. The kids' nanny, Loverne, came into the room, bringing milk for the two younger ones.

"Verne, could you be a dear and hand me my pill case?" Scully pointed to her bag on top of the living room coffee table.

"Okay, Ms. Dana," Loverene replied in her sweet old way. She was a recommendation from Teena a few years ago, a housewife recently widowed in Massachusetts who wanted some distraction, and when the toddlers came, she was the perfect addition to their household help.

Once the pillbox was in her hands, Missy raised a perfect-Scully eyebrow. "What are those for, Mum?" she asked in a singsong refrain.

"Vitamins, Missy." She tacked down a couple on her palm, raised it so that Donna couldn't reach it, and quickly dry swallowed them. She remembered she still had OJ so she drank some to ease the pain in her throat. "I haven't been feeling up and up lately."

"I noticed," Will said conspiratorially, making quick glances at the teens. "Mum … as the eldest …"

_Fuck,_ she panicked, _here it comes._

"It is my job to ask you – are you pregnant?" Then, after a heartbeat, "Again?"

"I don't think so," she answered too quickly. Guiltily. Not that Mulder and her didn't want another baby … it just wasn't part of the plan as of the moment. Actually, they've never talked about having another baby for years. Did her husband want another child? Did she?

"Okay, if you say so," Missy happily chirped, bumping against Jenny with her shoulder on the kitchen counter. The cook only had a mysterious smirk on her face.

"I'm just too tired," Scully supplied, as if it didn't make her sound guilty enough again.

"We can see that," Margaret agreed, slipping into a soft British accent she had borrowed from her Mum. "That's why you don't drive, and we pick you up for the airport."

"Okay … umm, use the black Ford, William. Dad's car. Paparazzi's crazy in the airport," she reminded her son. William nodded, scanned her face for the last time, and went back to feeding Bill.

* * *

What made her laugh so loud upon seeing Emily for the first time in months were the tired eye bags they were both sharing. Even concealer couldn't hide these from each other.

"Dana!" Emily greeted as they leaned in to give each other kisses on the cheeks. Their waiter ushered them into a private booth, but not before Scully caught an old black and white photograph of her and her husband atop the bar. It was for a photo shoot they did after she gave birth and was prepping for their wedding. Beside it was a photo of Frank Sinatra.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" She smoothened her denim skirt as she sat down. "You've been so busy your Dad complains to me that he hasn't seen you in forever!"

"Ah, that's his old age speaking," Emily giggled, reaching for the menu. "It's so hard to work around the twins. They're turning three so the terrible years are about to start … you know how it is. You've had enough of your own." They both laughed before placing their orders.

"I wonder why you like it so much here," Scully commented, gesturing to her photograph with a sneer. "It's so _Hollywood-_ish."

"Well, it's 'meta,' you know?" She made air quotation marks. "It's so Hollywood not even the paparazzi would think of snapping us here."

"Maybe." Scully sat down on the red leather couch and rubbed her neck. "Gosh, I'm so tired. All these guest appearances and TV spots are sucking the life out of me, literally." She giggled. "And the kids … they think I'm pregnant."

Emily's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Are you?" The tone suggested that she wouldn't be surprised if Scully was again. Emily had lived with them for a while when she went through a rough patch with Jeffrey, her husband. It was only later on, when she had moved out and was pregnant with her own twins, that she admitted to Scully that she had to go buy herself ear plugs because she could hear them making love all through the night. An embarrassing admission, yes, but most probably true. Mulder had major repairs in the Manor after that - to thicken the walls in particular.

"I don't think so." Scully paused when the waiter brought them their California rolls for appetizers. "No, I'm not."

"The press will have a field day."

"I know, I know," Scully replied, taking a sip of her iced tea. "They think every child Mulder and I ever had were surprises – like dropped by the stork out of nowhere. They never think for a second that every single one was planned; well, except for William and John. And your father and I … we don't have current plans to have another one."

"Will it be so terrible if there's another one?"

"No, of course not," Scully quickly mended, and it spread a warmth all throughout her chest. Another baby – imagine that. She could remember giving birth to each one of her children like it was yesterday: William's pink face and the wonder she had because he was actually alive … that she was able to carry him to term and there he was, beautiful and healthy. Margaret had been from their eagerness and excitement to have another one; waking up in the hospital to see her in her father's arms was the best feeling in the world. Then, Missy whom she carried while she was shooting a movie, to Mulder's chagrin. She came unexpectedly while doing reshoots in France (to Mulder's rage!) and so became half-French, in that sense. Ten months later, there was John … an all-American boy that Mulder doted on. Four kids in, and he said he didn't want to take in any more movies for the time being. It was a blissful seven years until they decided they want another one, or two – so came Bill and Donna. Bill who cried like insane when he was born, and Donna, who Mulder and her decided should be born in Wales. It was her first return to the other side of the pond since her visit there many, many years ago. It was a necessary reunion; the Scullys met her own family and the Mansion did not scare her anymore. She even gave birth in a hospital there that was not far from where she delivered her stillborn. Yet, she was fine and she even loved the experience.

"Jeff and I think we're done with the twins; they're a freaking handful!" Emily giggled, biting into her roll.

"Don't rule it out, Em. Who knows? YOU might be the one pregnant!"

"I take my pills diligently, unlike you, Dana!"

"I take my pills regularly, too!" she defended herself, feeling her cheeks burn. Fine, she was infamous for forgetting to take her pills at times, but hey, she had a terrible memory when it came to things like that.

"You should belly up and get an assistant, just like Dad with Marita Krycek, Dana. Marita can't do the thinking for both of you."

"I'm not getting one; I'm managing well."

"Yes, says the woman who has enough concealer under her eyes for the rest of her body!"

"You're insane, Emily." Their orders came and they dug into their food. "Just like your father," she continued after a mouthful.

"That's why you like me so much, eh?"

"Maybe," Scully replied with a snort.

* * *

The wait in the airport's VIP lounge was quite intense – an energy she's familiar with whenever they waited for one family member to come home from a long trip. William was insistent that she shouldn't wear stilettos for that day because she was too tired and was aghast when he picked her up only to see that she was _wearing_ stilettos, anyway. So he cold-shouldered her for the rest of the wait, only barking at Margaret (who was used to her brother's overprotectiveness; besides, she was busy reading a medical book) to talk to her. Meanwhile, John silently listened to his MP3 player while Missy picked up the latest entertainment magazine in the lounge's selection. She was the only Mulder who was interested in the latest Hollywood tidbits.  
When her husband's flight number was announced, Scully stood up and heard her children follow her. Pretty soon, a throng of people emerged from the tube, until she spotted him in the crowd, flanked by Marita and Byers. She probably was smiling goofily when their eyes connected, because he certainly was too, but she didn't care. All she cared about was seeing his fluffy brown hair that he had apparently grown out – it was a lot longer than she's used to and it fit his face so well, with brown bangs hanging at the sides of his eyes. His pronounced nose sniffed the Californian air, and he chewed on his thick lower lip upon seeing her. There was a flash of hunger in his eyes that was like an arrow straight to her groin, but it quickly disappeared when he spotted the teens behind her.

Nearing his family, he waved a hand at the children. "Wait, you guys know that the first hug is reserved for your Mum," he opened his arms to her, "Come here now, _cheri_, what are you waiting for?" he kidded.  
Scully breathed out, an unnamed heaviness leaving her chest, and did step into his embrace. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held him tight, burying her face into his polo shirt that had a whiff of that peculiar airline scent, his usual cologne, and that musky Mulder smell that she missed so much. Mulder squeezed her hard against him, murmuring loving things in her ear, kissing her hair and devouring her own scent himself. They had a few more seconds like this until the teens couldn't help themselves and joined in on the hug. Soon, they all broke apart so that they could also hug Marita and Uncle Byers.

Scully kissed Byers on the cheeks, "Did you do a good job caring for my husband, Byers?" she inquired, patting their friend on his shoulders.

"He was a fucking saint, Dana," Byers replied, then leaned in, "I think he was actually taking care of _me._ I got so drunk on the last day of shooting that he drove me back to my hotel room. He didn't even touch a glass of wine! That bastard."

"He knows he's not allowed," Scully explained, relieved at the fact that Mulder didn't indulge in alcohol while she's not around. He wasn't getting any younger and though he didn't physically appear fifty-five, the doctor had warned him that drinking too much could harm his heart. A glass of red wine a day was all he could do.

When she turned around, William grabbed his father's suitcase while Margaret took his coat and wore it. Mulder had an arm around Missy and reached over to clasp his hand with hers. They started walking out of the airport, and in the exit, the photographers were already snapping pictures.

Instinctively, Scully reached into her purse and put on her sunglasses. She also had the presence of mind to push down John's baseball cap to shield his eyes from the photogs, afterwards placing an arm around her son. Mulder grabbed his own sunglasses from his breast pocket. He leaned into her, "How are you doing, darling? Will sent me a text message last night telling me you're always tired."

"Oh, the usual. You know how crazy my schedule is lately. This is my first free day in a week."

"I want your weekend, Scully," he growled in her ear, making her nipples push painfully against her crisp white shirt. Thank you Jesus, because she was wearing a thick coat over her clothes and those damn photogs wouldn't see a thing. She leaned over, until she could reach his ear, and whispered back, "I want your weekend too, Mr. Mulder," before placing a kiss on the back of his earlobe – a sensitive spot. Mulder visibly shuddered.

Soon, they were in front of a row of photographers. Byers and Marita immediately took to the sides to shield the family and to give them leeway to pass through.

"Didn't CGB ask you to get bodyguards, Dad?" Margaret wondered out loud, as she shielded her face from a flash. Mulder rolled his eyes.

"I know, honey. I'll look into it." In Scully's ear, he continued, "They're getting more and more aggressive every year, aren't they?"

She opened her mouth to reply, before a paparazzi shouted in her direction: "Dana, Dana! Are you happy to see your husband after a month of separation?"

What she learned over the years of being in the spotlight was that if you were kind to the paparazzi, they were kinder to you, too. So she answered, "Of course!"

"How do you feel about the reviews for your movie, _A Song of War_? They said you'll get nominated for an Oscar!"

She only bowed her head down, watched her step, and moved closer to her husband.

"Mulder! Mulder! How does it feel to be back with your wife again?"

"Terrible! I want to leave!" Mulder shouted, and she threw her head back to laugh. The press was used to his dry sense of humor, but sometimes, new paparazzi people took it the wrong way.

Finally, they reached their car. Marita was picked up by her husband, to whom Mulder gave a curt nod to, while Byers was picked up by his new girlfriend. William was behind the wheel again, with Scully on the passenger's seat and Mulder at the back with John, Missy, and Margaret all around him, hugging him tight. A few paparazzi people shouted, "Your kids are growing up quite fine, Mr. and Mrs. Mulder!" before William honked loudly at them so that they'd move away. When they cleared enough for them to pass through, William drove out of the airport and soon, into the freeway.

"So, what's new with all of you?" Mulder demanded in jest, as if he didn't talk to them just last night. He kissed the top of the girls' heads before mock-punching John in the stomach. The boy snickered at his father.

"Oh, nothing, Dad!" Margaret answered, leaning into her father so she could give him an affectionate kiss on the cheek. Scully watched the scene behind her in the rearview mirror of the car and she was struck at how much she loved seeing him with their children. Fifteen years in and it hadn't changed – how much at awe she was with her love for them, how much he reveled in having so many around him. He was living the dream his father had wanted for him and she was more than happy to have been the one to give this all to him.

"Other than we think Mummy's pregnant!"

"WHAT?" Mulder almost choked on his own saliva. With this, Scully deeply sighed and rolled her eyes. That was the unmistakable tone of Missy, the chatterbox. She should've debriefed her daughter before their father arrived.

"It's not true, Mulder," she insisted, suddenly feeling tired again.

"She _may be_," Missy insisted back, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial timbre.

"I'm not, young lady; don't assume you know my body better than myself."

"Would you want another kid, Dad?" It was John this time, and as Scully expected, a curious hush came over the rest of them. It was rare for John to talk and when he did, everyone in the family made sure they listened.

"As long as your Mum wants another one." Mulder smiled at her through the rearview; she studied his eyes for a moment until she was convinced that he indeed was telling the truth.

William pressed down his window as they neared their gated community, but before he gave them their last name, he made sure his two cents were known about the pregnancy hullaballoo: "As long as Mum CAN handle another one," he interjected, and before anyone could protest, he said "Mulder!" into the intercom.

* * *

Mulder shut the door behind him as he entered their bedroom.

"Jesus Christ, Donna and Bill sure got their energy from you, not me."

Scully was crouched down in the walk-in closet, carefully arranging Mulder's clothes from his luggage. She was segregating the clean ones from those that she thought could use a trip to the laundry; of course, a bit of control was exercised because she seriously wanted to dump all of it into the laundry chute.

Digging into the luggage, she happened upon a plastic bag that had something soft in it. "Mulder, what's this?" she shouted from the closet. He quickly shuffled in, removing his t-shirt and tossing it into the chute. Scully grabbed it to fold it in a neat square, then returned it to the laundry bag.

"You think I only brought goodies for the kids? Open it. That's yours, Mrs. Mulder."

Scully hiked up her skirt a bit and sat down Indian-style on the floor before opening the plastic. From the door of the walk-in, Mulder watched her, one hand on the door's frame and another on his hip. She borrowed a moment to watch his flat stomach – god, he still looked good after all these years – and finally ripped the package open.

What she saw inside made her tear up, annoyingly so.

"Damn, Mulder," she protested, lifting the gift up in the light, "our anniversary isn't for another few months."

Mulder crouched down behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pressing a kiss at the side of her forehead. "I want it to be our anniversary every single month, Scully, is that so terrible?"

She touched the petals of the artificial yellow calla lily bouquet in her hands, marveling at how similar it looked to the bouquet she carried with her during their wedding. It even had the same color of ribbon wrapped around its stem. Soon, tears were falling down her cheeks and she wiped them away angrily, not knowing why she was crying like hell. Mulder had a penchant for surprising _and_ spoiling her, especially after being gone for a long time, but man, she never reacted this way.

"Tears, darling?" he breathed into her ear, "why so?"

"Because you can be a bloody sentimental fool when you want to be!" she kidded, turning around so she can press her lips soundly on his. Before she could return to her task, Mulder held her head there with a hand to her cheek and kissed her again – lightly at first, like dipping into uncharted waters; then he licked her lips, once, twice, thrice, and prodded her with his tongue until she opened up and allowed him access to her depths.

She shook hard from the first taste of him since at least three weeks ago, his distinct flavor assaulting her senses in a way that excited her to her core. The hands on her shoulders transferred down to her neck, tenderly brushing against the pulse that fluttered beneath her throat, then down to the slope of her shirt, to the spot where her breasts met.  
The wetness that rushed through her canal shocked her; how did she get so horny, this fast? Mulder did mention something about her sexuality peaking at her age, but damn … she was about ready to start humping his leg.

Skillfully, her husband loosened her grip on the bouquet and brushed his luggage away until it hit the wall. Without breaking their kiss, Scully laid down on the carpet of the closet, pulling her skirt up so that she could accommodate his hard body in between her legs and cursed the tightness of her skirt around her thighs because she couldn't further push it up. Mulder murmured against her lips, placing his elbows at the sides of her head and thrusting his erection against her soaking wet lace panties. She responded with a moan so loud she had to break the kiss.

"Mrs. Mulder," he cried out in mock surprise, tasting the flesh below her cross necklace, "you must've missed me." His fingers quickly found the edges of her lace and, without warning, he dipped two inside the wet triangle between her legs. She hissed and he groaned. "Fuck, you're so wet, Scully. I've dreamt of making love to you since the day you left Canada. All I want to do is to bury myself in you and never let go."

"No," she said through her lust-induced hazed. Her voice sounded like it came from the other end of the room. "No …" she repeated, just to make sure that it was indeed her voice.

"What?" Mulder moved his fingers around her cunt and it felt so good, so damn good, that her muscles began to involuntarily clench around him. Mulder moaned again, and she could feel him rubbing his erection, through his jeans, on the carpet against her leg.

"No … don't make love to me."

"What do you mean?" he asked, a hint of concern in his voice, but unable to stop himself from pulling down her shirt (a button popped but who cared) and her bra so that a nipple could peek out. It hardened under his gaze, and as if he would die if couldn't taste her skin, he dipped his tongue onto her flesh slowly, then hungrily until soon he was trying to get as much of her breast in his mouth.

It was electric. Scully writhed beneath him, his mouth on her breast and his fingers in her cunt, wanting to both push him away and pull him closer until they were but one molecule making love … no, not making love …

"Fuck me, Mulder," she shouted, biting her lip. That distracted him for a second, because he lifted his mouth from her nipple and made sure they stared at each other. There it was, Scully noticed, his hazel eyes turning as black as the midnight sky. "Fuck me," she repeated slowly, making sure he got what she wanted, no needed, "take me. Anyway you want me. I want it rough tonight."

He knew what she was talking about.

There were moments for sweet lovemaking; moments for frenzied ones, and even quickies. She could have Mulder anyway she wanted, anytime they could. But the past few years had been good for their sex life, because they've experimented more than before. And there was one activity he really enjoyed and she had gotten to like, too. Actually, she liked it way, way too much.

Plus, she was so horny that night; she felt that her whole body was a rash that no one but Mulder could scratch and heal.

Her husband gave a small nod and devoured her mouth once more. "I love you to the ends of this fucking planet," he whispered desperately against her lips. While he was distracted with her tongue and her inner muscles, she loosened his belt, opened his fly and began to kick off his jeans with her feet. The fingers in her thrust rhythmically, deliciously, until it hit her g-spot and she cried out from their kiss. His jeans were probably bunched around his knees but she didn't care, because his boxers were thin and oh goodness, she could feel his cock on her knee and she wanted to take it in.

Hands free now, Scully raked her fingernails on Mulder's bare back, spreading gooseflesh everywhere, and directed him once more to her mouth with a push at the back of his head. He was about to plunge his tongue back into her when she caught it mid-air and sucked on it slowly, achingly, the same way she would when she was eating his cock.

That drove him wild.

With a heave, Mulder pushed himself off her and divested himself of his clothing with annoyance. He stared at her on the floor - one breast out of her shirt, legs spread open and panties askew, watching him as he watched her – as he slid down his boxers. His thick erection bobbed in the air, red and straining towards her, and she knew that he was so hard it was throbbing.

"You're making me crazy tonight, Mrs. Mulder," he panted, running his hands on his cock. "I'm so hard it hurts, you see?" To demonstrate, he cupped his balls first, then ran his hand on his length. He jerked at the contact, eyes still on her. "I'm going to fuck you so hard tonight, Scully. And I want my name on your lips every single fucking thrust I give you."

Scully gasped when he stroked himself in a slow up-and-down motion. Not to be outdone, she ripped open her shirt and ignored the buttons that flew everywhere. Pulling down her bra, she squeezed her breasts until it made her husband lick his lips, then with one hand busy with her breasts, she hooked the other on her panties. She lifted her legs gracefully, lifting her rear end with it, and with one swoop, the useless scrap of lace was gone. Her husband groaned; she knew it killed him when she demonstrated her dancer's agility in bed just for him.

She plunged her fingers in her cunt, gasped when she realized how wet she was, and went back to her clit to spread the wetness there. With their eyes on each other, she started stroking and pumping herself, while he did the same, until their groans filled the closet and they were close, goddamn close.

"No, not this way, not tonight," she protested, removing her fingers from her cunt. Suddenly, Mulder dropped to his knees and before she could do anything else, he had taken her fingers in her mouth and sucked them dry. His tongue traveled the ridges of her fingers as if it was the first time he had ever tasted her.

"How do you want it, Mrs. Mulder?" he inquired darkly, kissing the tips of those same fingers.

She smirked at him. "Fuck me with your tongue."

He closed his eyes and pressed down on his abdomen. "God, I've wanted to hear that from you since Canada." With that he laid down on the floor, his erection jutting up in the air. She ignored it for the meantime as she stood up and all but practically ripped the rest of her clothing. Then, she sat down on his abdomen, her ass feeling the heat of his erection. She rubbed against it for a moment, making Mulder squirm, and made the trip up to his face. She made sure she rubbed her wetness all over his body, from his sparse chest hair, his erect nipples, that one-day-old stubble on his chin that felt heavenly against her swollen lips, and his mouth. She stretched her legs further so that she was literally mounting his face, so that she could feel his tongue inside her.

Mulder braced her against him with his hands on her thighs, making sure that she didn't move away. His tongue darted out for a taste of her clit and it was an electric current against her whole body. The touch, no matter how light, was almost close to bringing her to fucking nirvana. She doubled over, then remembered that Mulder needed to breathe, so she bent over and anchored her elbows around his waist. In response, Mulder began to thrust his cock near her head.

_Heaven_, Scully thought, being so open to a man like this was pure heaven. Her nipples were in the air, as erect as his cock, and his tongue inside her canal thrusting like insane. Soon, she was rubbing her clit on the hood of his nose, not caring if he was able to breathe at all, because it felt so damn good.

There it was, the familiar coiling in her. But this time, it didn't start from her cunt – it started from the tips of her toes and the top of her head, running like a waterfall from both polar ends of her until it met for a tidal wave in her center. Mulder now bobbed his head up and down in the effort, his cock thrusting up and down beside her face, and she was surprised when a finger dipped into her caverns and swirled around. She opened her mouth to shout but was cut short when with one hand, Mulder pushed her to completely sit on his face. Scully flailed for anywhere to hold so that she wouldn't suffocate him, and fortunately found the lower shelves as anchors. Then, he did what he knew would get her off in the craziest possible way: he inserted a finger inside her ass and began to pump.

"Mulder! Mulder! I love you, Jesus, I love you!" she cried out, as if for help, then she was gone. She felt her inner muscles throb and she couldn't help it, she ground out into his mouth so hard she knew he felt the throbbing on his cheeks. Her orgasm was so intense tears sprang from her eyes, while her ass throbbed simultaneously in pleasure.

"Fuck, Scully," he answered her cries. She was still quivering when he pushed her off him. He grabbed her shirt, wiped his intensely wet face, and with no preamble, carried her out of the closet. She was still shaking from aftershocks when he dropped her on the bed, made her turn around, and he mounted her from behind.

"I'm so hard, Scully," he pleaded, rubbing his cock on her ass. "I need you. I want your pussy to grip my cock so hard."

Scully pushed back, wanting to get up on all fours. "I need you in my ass tonight, Mulder," she replied, in her best bedroom voice, "take me there. Fuck me hard."

"Not yet," he said. He lifted himself off her and spread her legs wide. "Mrs. Mulder, you're so wet, do you feel that? You're so wet you're soaking the sheets."

"Let the laundry worry about that, Mulder. I need you now!" she demanded and he chuckled. Despite their position, it was easy for him to push into her cunt as she was so wet and ready for him. They both groaned in unison when he was completely in her.

"I need a sec," he complained near her neck, and she nodded in agreement. She was gripping him so tight that she could feel his throbbing head inside of her. One move, without control, and he'd explode.

"You good?" she asked, she hoped not impatiently. To test him, she moved her ass around a bit. In response, he made a choking sound.

"You're so tight, baby," he muttered in pain. There it went: it was only when her husband was completely out of control that he'd call her "baby." She only allowed it in bed, too. "You're so fucking tight I'm about to come."

"If you don't move, Mulder, I will."

"All right, all right." He anchored his elbows on the sides of her breasts and started an uneven rhythm that he quickly fixed with a spirited thrust that took her breath away. "Fucking God, Scully, baby … you're so goddamn tight!"

"Yeah …" she agreed. She did feel tight. She didn't know why but man, it felt too good to argue against.

"Look at this, baby," he cried, pulling out so that it was only the tip of his cock in her cunt, then pushing back in suddenly. She felt every inch of his pump at the back of her spine; every hair on her body was standing up from the sheer pleasure of it. "Look. At. This." He pulled out again, then pumped in again. It took a while for him to adjust his whole size in her. "So fucking tight!"

"I know." She started moving on her own, loving the feel of him inside of her but wanting more. "Mulder, take me! Bloody do it!"

"What do you want me to do with your pussy?" he panted; he was still thrusting in and out of her, as if his body couldn't process what she was demanding him.

"Fill it up with your fingers. Make me come with both holes."

"Fuck, damn it," he shouted, and pulled out. He held her by her pelvis and pulled her up so that her ass was up in the air. She kept her face on the mattress, wanting him to see her glistening pussy.

"Beautiful," he admired, bending down to lick at her cunt from top to bottom, making her quiver in excitement. He reached over the bedside table where they kept the jelly, but she stopped him.

"Scully?"

"No, I'm so wet. Just shove it in. I'm ready to take you all in."

With a grunt and a heave, Mulder parted her cheeks until he found her hole. He repositioned himself so that he could thrust easily in her, and with a gentle nudge, she felt his cock at her rim.

"More, Mulder." She pushed back at him. "You fucking know how I like it."

"Damn," he cursed once more, before obeying. He did it gently despite her frustration, keeping in mind that she didn't let him put any jelly on before anal sex. Once he was inside her, Scully wanted to scream. The exquisite mix of pain and pleasure were making her wild with need. The lust coursed through her body in waves that filled her every end; she almost couldn't breathe with her need to be fucked by her husband.

"Fingers in me NOW!" she shouted, and he obeyed again. Two, then three were inside of her, and he began to move into her ass. The pleasure made her eyes roll back in her head.

He pumped in, then withdrew, just at the same moment his fingers pumped in her. It was a delectable rhythm that she moved against to. Soon, she found herself on her palms and crying out to the heavens. She was so close, so close, it was again starting from all polar ends of her and she had an inkling that this orgasm was going to render her unconscious. It was going to be THAT spectacular.

It was then that he draped his long, lean body over hers and his mouth found the shell of her ear. Scully lifted her head up and opened her neck to him, cradling his chin in between the juncture of her shoulder, for she knew what he needed to do.

"I love you so much, Scully," he huskily declared, a prayer meant just for her, into her ear.

"Mmm …" she moaned first, feeling the exquisite mix of pain and pleasure deep within her belly. "I love you too, Mulder."

Then, losing control, Mulder started to shout her name in between his thrusts, his fingers still deep in her pussy. She answered him in return with his own name on her lips; however, it wasn't enough, she was about to come, so she pushed his hand down on her clit and she howled. "Mulder, come now!"

With just that, Mulder gasped as her inner muscles ate his fingers up, the vibrations resonating in her behind, and with one final push, he also came so hard his knees shook at the back of her legs.

As she expected, she blacked out to the sound of Mulder coming down from his high.

* * *

Scully woke up with a start, her gasp once more echoing in her ears. This time though, rather than feeling as if a truck ran over her, she felt so light as if she could fly.

"Good evening, darling," Mulder greeted. She searched for him beside her, didn't find him there, and spotted him seated on a chair near her side of the bed. He reached over for something on the nearby bedside table, and quickly produced a cup of tea. She smiled sleepily as she accepted the tea and he helped her sit up with a cushion of pillows on her back.

"Mhmm …" she hummed, smelling the scent of her favorite Jasmine tea. "How long you've been up?"

Mulder chuckled. He was in his dark blue robe and was also busy sipping his tea. "Long enough to go out, buy some stuff, and come back to find you still sleeping, Scully. How are you feeling?" he inquired, his eyes smoky in their half-lit bedroom.

She reached up to push back a stray strand of brown hair on his forehead. "Wonderful. I feel bloody perfect." Smiling at him, she drank her tea. The warm liquid swirled in her mouth, down her throat, and with a satisfying sigh, dropped in her stomach. She loved this all – and loved even more her husband who understood how much she wanted her tea after vigorous sex.

"I got you something while you were passed out."

She had another sip of her tea. "What's that?"

Mulder opted to show her instead. He reached behind him and produced a pink box that she knew too well.

"Oh no …" Scully shook her head. "I told you: I'm not pregnant!"

"You're in denial, wife. When was your last period?"

That made her blush. Not that she was embarrassed, for crying out loud, but because the answer made his conviction even more appealing: "Umm, two months ago."

"Holy fuck, Scully …" he chuckled, a sound that resonated deep in his belly. "And you're writing that off as what?"

"Stress?" she defended, hiding behind her cup. "Too much bloody things going on at the same time?"

"I know your body well, Mrs. Mulder. I know that when you miss your period even for just a month, we should order a cake to announce the good news to the children."

"I told you … I'm NOT pregnant."

Mulder sighed and placed his cup down the bedside table. He also took hers, much to her chagrin, and covered her hands with his. He bore into her eyes, allowing her to read him completely, bearing himself and his emotions to her: it was a privilege, one she enjoyed exclusively as his wife. Plus, she was the only one who could read him "like a kindergarten book," he would chime in.

"Scully, baby," he started, running chills down her spine, "Why are you so afraid of being pregnant? It's not as if we can't work around it. We always do."

"It's …" she paused. "It's … because it's unexpected. It's out of control. We didn't plan this one. Like John."

"And look how well that turned out."

"No, I mean … I'm not sure if I'm in the right frame of mind to have another one."

He drew closer. "Are you afraid that YOU'RE losing control of the situation?"

_Bingo._

Scully's lower lip quivered and the tears pooled at the edges of her eyes. "Yes. Like, hell, I'm thirty-five … I should've taken those damn pills, I should've not skipped a day, I should've … I just want to welcome a baby in the right frame of mind. Not like this."

"I understand," Mulder agreed. "A baby is certainly not high on our priority list right now. I'm scared, too. Especially at my age – another baby's certainly a lot to think about, with two young ones still clinging onto our every move. But I'm also excited for the possibility: that we've created life again – another you and me. I want that. I always will."

"Me too," Scully agreed, then shied away, "just … I don't know. I have mixed feelings about this."

"Yeah, I know," he drew forward and placed a tender kiss on her forehead. "You're the only one who can say what you want to feel about this situation. Whatever you feel about the outcome of this pregnancy test, however you may react, I will respect that. It's your body and it's your right to react that way. And it is your choice to see what deems fit to this situation."

Her eyes swelled with tears. Whatever did she do to deserve a husband like this?

Mulder kissed her on the lips then stood up. He placed a hand out, which she gladly took and helped her stand up. He handed her the kit and dressed her up in her matching white robe.

She smirked at him. "What makes you think I'm pregnant?"

"I've made love to you for six pregnancies, Scully. I know how it feels when there's a bun in the oven."

She giggled. "Let's see if your groin's psychic abilities are up to par, husband."

"Let's see."

Closing the door behind her in the bathroom, she went through the motions like she had so many times before: tear open the packet, pee into a cup, get the dropper, drop into the kit, then wait. Ten minutes.

It was only nine minutes in when the telltale pink lines came. Scully sucked in a deep breath and calmed herself down. The tears came, fast and sudden, and she wondered what they were for. She closed her eyes and assessed her feelings. Meditating in silence, she tried to find in herself the cause of her tears.

Then, when the faces of her children all came at her one-by-one, she found it: she was crying tears of joy.

"Mulder, Mulder!" she bellowed, breezing out of the bathroom and into his arms, with the stick in one hand.

"What is it, darling?" he asked, gathering her close.

"Look!" she waved the stick in his eyes. When he zeroed in on the pink lines, a smug grin broke out on his face. It quickly was replaced by the wetness in his eyes. "I knew my cock wasn't wrong," he tried to proudly declare, but his voice was shaking. He turned to her. "How do you feel about this?"

Without hesitation, she answered: "Happy. I feel happy about this."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," she croaked, reaching up to taste his lips, and what a glorious taste it was: the taste of their tears, happiness, and collective excitement. "Mulder, you're going to be a father! Again!"

"I will never tire hearing those words from you, Scully," he said into her hair, "Never."

Her heart swelled over until she thought it might burst from the love she felt for this man and the children they have had over the years. _Seven_. She peeked at the bedside table, where Mulder had placed the faux bouquet of lilies he got her from Canada. From now on, when she looked at that bouquet, she would always remember the seventh. _A bouquet for the seventh_, she thought, and soon, she was kissing him once more.

* * *

**THE END**

* * *

**C/N: **Shall I write more in this universe? Prompts in the comment section are welcome!


	55. When in Vegas

**TITLE: **When in Vegas  
**RATING: **Explicit. No kiddies.  
**KEYWORDS: **MSR, AU  
**SPOILERS: **You need to be updated in the Spunk vocabulary to be able to enjoy this, as always. Especially the early chapters of them in Las Vegas for Scully's first spot in the _Folies Bergere_.  
**SUMMARY:** For the Mulders, what _does_ happen in Vegas?  
**DISCLAIMER: **Chris Carter owns their names. I give more credit to David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson, because they were the real inspirations behind this whole universe. But yeah, Jerry Jayson is mine, as are the four critters here!

**A/N: **I love this extension chapter – I feel like it's a return to the humor so evident in the initial chapters of Spunk! So I hope you have fun reading this as much as I had fun writing it. It may be my last extension chapter for Spunk, since I have to wear my professional writing hat for the next couple of months, but who knows in the near future, right? _wink, wink._ Get ready for a roller coaster ride with this one, by the way! Enjoy!

* * *

#408  
Deluxe Suite  
Four Queens Hotel  
Las Vegas, Nevada  
2 March 1995  
Thursday

Dana Katherine Scully choked back a heavy sigh as she sat down the toilet, emptied her bladder, and stood up. However, before she flushed, she stared at the swirl of water for one last time - one last confirmation - before finally pressing the button to get rid of the evidence that was about to slap her face.

_Wow,_ she ruefully thought, _what a perfect thirtieth birthday present._

Grabbing a tampon from her toiletry kit, she went through the familiar routine as quickly as she could, lest a certain someone noticed that she wasn't in bed …

"Scully?" came a throaty cry from the other end of the door, "Darling?"

She hurried up her movements: selecting clean underwear from her kit, sorting through her husband's discarded shirts to find one clean enough to still be worn, and staring at herself in the mirror for a heartbeat. Her hair was frazzled, the wavy red locks piled atop her head in a messy bun, and her lips swollen from the languid kisses she shared with Mulder after making love last night. But her eyes … she was thankful that it was only three o'clock in the morning and there was no way for him to see the world in her eyes. It was apparent that she was carrying the rest of its weight within.

After one last deep breath, she opened the door and padded into the bedroom, where she could see Mulder's tense outline as he waited for her in the dark.

"What time is it?" he murmured, his body relaxing. He rubbed his face into the pillow as he moved to give her space to join him. Scully sat beside his warm body and hesitated before lying down.

"Half past three in the morning." She finally relented and lifted the covers, feeling the chill of the air-conditioning on the topmost silk. Mulder immediately opened his arms up to her, drawing her in, and even if she was reluctant to sink into his embrace, the bed tipped over to his weight and she instinctively molded her back to his front.

"So early, baby," he cooed in her ear, reaching up to tuck a wild strand of hair behind her lobe. His one arm was used as her pillow, while the other skirted up and around her waist, where he felt what she was wearing. "Why'd you have to wear this?" he chuckled.

"I was cold," Scully admitted. They both loved sleeping naked, except when the kids were around. Here in Vegas, without the children, she purposely didn't bring any pyjamas or even lingerie. They both agreed they'd enjoy sleeping in the buff because with four kids running around at home, it was a luxury that they rarely had.

"Well, naked or not, you sure feel sexy in my shirt …" he trailed off, and before Scully could stop him, his hand was already cupping a breast. He expertly twirled her nipple with his fingers, pebbling it to a hardened peak, while the other twin strained to be touched. Mulder's hot lips parted at the back of her neck, his tongue tracing the bones jutting out there in a seductive, wet trail.

_Traitor_, Scully scolded her body, not really in the mood for anything naughty in the early morning. Eight years of marriage and she still sometimes couldn't fathom where he unearthed his insatiable sexual appetite. When he reasoned out that before her he was practically celibate for close to a decade, it shed some light on things. Not that she minded most of the time, of course … she was just as incorrigible as he was. Add to the fact that she knew that he reacted this way to her, and only her …

"Mulder, " she whispered, pulling his hand away from her breasts and settling it on her lips for a kiss. "Not now."

"Why not?" His lips on her back didn't stop; each lick sending electrifying shivers through her nerves.

"I got my period."

His lips and hand stilled for a second. A deathly silence blanketed the whole room.

Then, just when she thought he had fallen asleep, he flipped her onto her back and to her side so that they were face-to-face. He wasted no time as his lips met hers for a gentle, heartbreaking kiss.

"I'm so sorry, Scully," he said against her lips. She only could nod, letting him kiss her and wanting to feel his arms all around her body – her haven, her shelter against the raging tempest, her Superman, her life.

_Her life._ Scully bit back a sob.

"What are we doing here, Mulder?" she softly demanded, pieces of her heart falling to the floor like dead leaves from a tree.

"What do you mean?" he asked, as gingerly as he could.

"What are we doing here in Vegas? We've been here for two weeks already … I've had my birthday here and, and … what are we waiting for? Are we really staying here for another two weeks? I want to go home."

Mulder breathed in, and was careful to not breathe out heavily lest she mistake this for exasperation. He then pushed her head towards his lips so that he could place tiny grazes on her hairline.  
"Scully, you have three more performance nights for the Folies Bergere. Jerry Jayson will be sourly disappointed if you don't finish your performances this year. He already missed you when you weren't able to perform due to your pregnancies." Mulder caressed the back of her neck, and it somewhat relaxed her. "You're the main reason why those last three nights are all sold out, baby. We can't disappoint those people."

"So we risk disappointing ourselves?"

Mulder shook his head, the rustle of his hair on the pillow echoing in the silence. "It's not that … it's being professional. It's what you signed up for. I'm here with you. I know you miss the children, but they're in good hands and we can talk to them whenever we want."

The children. Scully stopped fighting the cry that was welling up in her throat. Finally, a tear fell and it fell, of all places, on Mulder's hand that was cradling her face. "Oh, _chéri_ …" he soughed when he felt the wetness, lifting a thumb up to wipe away the rest that followed underneath her eyes. "I'm so sorry about your period. I'm disappointed too. We've been trying for months now … and maybe, maybe we should give it a break."

"What break?" Scully demanded, her shoulders tensing.

"Scully, I mean, look at what this is doing to you, to us. You're stressed, I'm stressed … maybe we're just trying too hard. Maybe we should just let the baby come."

"But our schedules … it's either within the first-half of the year or not!"

"It's not as if we're _not _doing anything about it." In the dark, she could see his half-hearted smile, but it was of little consolation to the rage that was brewing inside her. "Why don't we just let it happen and not make … making love like a nightly appointment? It was fun when John came, wasn't it?"

She ignored his question. "So what? We should just stop this? Fuck up all our plans?"

"Scully," his voice lowered, "you know that's not what I meant."

She was about to explode – she felt it in her. The rage was so overpowering she could hold it in her two hands. Her therapist had reminded her of her short temper, of her "Spunk" as so many of their friends had nicknamed her with, and if there was one thing she learned from all the hours she spent healing the wounds of the past, it was to never let her rage drive her responses - especially to her husband.

"Mulder …" she resigned, turning around and moving away from him on the bed. "I'm tired. Let's just sleep on this and maybe we can talk about this tomorrow."

There was an audible pause before he answered, "Okay. You sleep well," he replied. She could also feel the strain in his movements, as he turned around and moved away from her on the bed. This was also the result of their collective therapy: Mulder finally learned how to quit, sometimes. Though he only quit when it came to certain aspects of their relationship. He was still as bullheaded as ever in Hollywood and in everything else.

Soon, she drifted off into a fitful slumber. Scully dreamt of trying to reach for a lily in the middle of a pond back in Wales. However, she overstepped her balance and she fell into the cold water. She stretched up, kicked her limbs, knowing that she could swim, but the water was like a black hole that ate her up whole.

* * *

"It surprises me how you have maintained your weight despite all the babies you've had."

"It still surprises me, Jerry, why you ONLY can find time to visit me whenever my show's about to end," Scully wiped her forehead with the towel she had draped on the railings of the barre. Without looking at the flamboyant man whose steps were clicking closer and closer to where she was practicing her dance, she stretched her arms above her and sucked in her core as she bent her body backwards so that she could reach the floor with her hands. Then gingerly, she rested her body weight on her hands and elbows so that she could lift her legs high above her, as if an invisible string was pulling her from her toes – a perfect handstand.

Close to where she was, Jerry Jayson, the now-director of the _Folies Bergere_, clapped. "Four kids and you still do that pose better than anyone else!" he complimented. Scully sneered, feeling all the blood rush to her head but maintaining her posture. Carefully, she lowered her feet to her front, as stealth as a cat dropping from a rooftop; after, she lifted her torso and head until she was standing up.  
"Ta-dah," she murmured, winking at Jerry. Hopping back to the barre to get her towel, she wiped her exposed midriff and raised an eyebrow at Jerry's outfit: neon pink leggings and a metallic oversized shirt. Topping this ensemble off was some very expensive Gucci sunglasses.

"The eighties called, Jerry. They want your outfit back," Scully joked, making the director laugh. She wiped the sweat off her face and leaned over to give him kisses on both cheeks. "I would hug you, my love, but I'm too sweaty because of the choreography you've made me do," she mock complained, pouting her lower lip out.

"You dance it anyway, with no complaints. Marriage has made you a softie, my beauty," Jerry placed an arm around her as they walked out of the studio. Dancers who were practicing on their own waved at them, and they waved back. Mostly, they left Scully to her own devices when she practiced her number in the studio, but all bets were off when she took her break: she'd be surrounded by girls who idolized her work for _Danced Yesterday_ ("it was my inspiration to join the _Folies_, Ms. Dana" or "when I watched you do that triple-flip in the movie's EXPLOSIVE final sequence, I knew I wanted to be a dancer, too!") and requests for photographs would follow. She didn't mind; actually, all the chaos was expected since it was the usual cycle whenever she returned to the _Folies Bergere _to dance her tenure. The novelty had worn off though (as it always eventually did) and now that she only had one big night on the itinerary, she was happy that most of the young dancers had left her to her medical journal or granola bar during breaks.

"I heard you were traveling, Jerry. I was beginning to think you were purposefully avoiding my show," Scully teased, hooking an arm around her friend's waist. As they exited the studio and the warm blast of air assaulted their bodies, Jerry pushed his sunglasses down his nose. He reached into his pocket and produced a shock-white Ray Ban for Scully, which she hesitantly wore. _This is not really my style,_ she thought, but appreciated the gesture. Who knew where the paparazzi could be lingering, anyway?

"I was with my boyfriend in Europe. We originally wanted to go to Fiji, but the storms in the Pacific were too erratic and we decided to just enjoy the castles off the coast of Ireland."

"Always the adventurer, you lovesick fool." Scully leaned on a banister on the studio's patio, while Jerry flipped open his cigarette case. He didn't bother offering Scully a cigarette and puffed away as they talked. "When do you plan to go to Wales?"

"Would _you_ let me go to Wales?" A thin pencil-drawn eyebrow was raised.

Scully laughed. "Of course! You can stay in our rest house near the Bay. I'll let my sister know if you want to." She sighed, placing a hand on her stomach. "Mulder and I are planning to visit, but plans are thwarted so we … I guess we need to stay in LA until …"

"Until what?"

A flush crept on her cheeks. Jerry had been a good friend of hers and a staunch supporter all throughout the years, especially when she publicly announced that she was battling her trauma through an interview with CNN after her wedding. The director was the first to send flowers to the Manor's doorstep – a dozen of yellow lilies – with a reminder to be nice to her doctors. Mulder chortled along with her when they remembered how Jerry was so frazzled when he brought her to the hospital years ago and she wouldn't calm down no matter what anyone did. It was only her husband who was able to pacify her.  
However, the disagreement she had with Mulder was still fresh in her mind, despite it being almost two weeks ago. The morning after that night had been awkward - they both didn't speak much and had gone on their separate ways, with Scully back in the studio for way-too-diligent rehearsals and Mulder off to the gym for his workout. It was only at nights when they would sit down and talk to the children via the phone when they'd actually _be_ together and find a semblance of parental front. After that, they went to bed naked but slept far from each other.

"Oooh," Jerry intimated, taking a long drag of his cigarette, "trouble in the Mulder paradise?" He crossed his legs and leaned forward. Scully chucked nervously.

"Mulder and I … we fight – sometimes loud and passionate, but there are fights when we're silent most of the time. It's as if we're not in the mood to talk to each other. These are the fights that scare me. We, we've had one recently. A week ago."

"What about, my beauty?"

"Another baby."

All pencil-thin eyebrows were raised. "_Another?_" Jerry squeaked.

"Hah," she blurted out, "this is your yearly warning, Jerry."

He placed a hand on his forehead in a dramatic fashion. "Oh lord, what will I do without THE Dana Katherine Scully selling out my spring shows for next year?" he said and Scully nudged his ankle with her sneakers.

"Shush, Jerry. That's the thing – we schedule this and all, you know, and he said it was putting pressure on us when we're trying to _make_ a baby. Why not let it happen or something like that, he declared. I got angry, because our schedules are not easy to coordinate. We plan a year ahead and it has helped our marriage all these years. Now he wants to fuck that up because we'll just let the baby come -" Scully bit her lip, "so to speak."

"Sheesh," Jerry complained, "I'm glad I'm not in a monogamous coupling –"

"Okay, I don't want to hear about your sexcapades!" Scully shut her ears with her hands, but Jerry continued.

"Whatever, _Virgin_ Scully. Anyway, your husband probably has a fantastic dick –"

"JERRY!"

"Hallelujah!" The director was unfazed by her complaints, tapping his finger on his stick to get rid of the ashes. "- because you've had four of these, these mini-Mulders already."

"Bloody fantastic dick," Scully muttered, keeping a smile to herself.

"But what I've always liked about Mulder is the way he thinks. He puts you first before anyone else. I saw that back in '85 when I first met you two. I saw that when he took care of you in the hospital. And I've seen him with your litter, Dana. He doesn't only put you first nowadays, but he also puts your children first. He comes from a good place, my beauty. When he says you guys should stop forcing a baby, maybe … he has a point." Jerry finished his cigarette and crushed its remaining embers on the elephant-shaped ashtray. "He comes from a good place, that stubborn husband of yours. He has a golden heart. You've lucked out," Jerry sighed, making Scully blush. Her friend stood up from his chair and wrapped his arms around her tiny waist to pull her closer to him so that they were nose-to-nose. "You've spent_ more than_ eight hours in the studio already, Dana. Go home and fuck your husband senseless. I know you have it in you."

She threw her head back and laughed out loud. After collecting herself, Scully placed small kiss on her friend's lips – one of the many intricacies of Hollywood that some people, especially the paparazzi, could never get. "Thank you, Jerry. I'd love to do that but we have a show tonight and I need to concentrate."

"You've done the show pregnant! What do you need to concentrate about?"

"John was one strong fetus," she countered, hugging her friend. She felt his arms around her shoulders before he drew her away.

"Let's go in and have some Brie cheese. The boyfriend brought it just for me. I'll share it with you because I like you so much," Jerry held her hand and pulled her towards the entrance of the studio. "Plus, at your six o'clock, your old friends the paps have returned."

"_Which_ boyfriend?" Jerry was not able to answer or protest, because Scully was already rolling her eyes at a stray flash far behind her. "There you guys are. Just in time for the final show."

* * *

The make-up artist had left Scully's dressing room with a stern warning to not mess anything up since they still had two hours to go before the show started. Her face had dramatically transformed – her eyebrows properly shaped, lips plump and red, eyelids glittering violet, cheeks dusted with glitters that under the light shimmered a thousand prisms. Thick black lining around her almond-shaped eyes had accentuated the blue of her irises. After her first show, Mulder commented that her eyes remained vibrant all throughout her set despite the dark lighting. It was mesmerizing, he whispered in her ear as he spooned behind her in bed that evening.  
Scully blinked a couple of times to keep her tears behind the makeup, catching the glitter of tiny diamonds that were attached to the fake eyelashes. Where the fuck was her husband? She called their hotel, but he wasn't there. She called Marita, his assistant, and she also didn't know where the fuck he was. In desperation, she even tried his gym – but he hadn't shown up the whole day.

Her desperation reached its peak when she entered her dressing room and scoured the deliveries of congratulations bouquets that were lined up along the couch – _Doggetts, Skinner, Lone Glitter, WB, CGB, Melissa …_ but found none from her husband. After each show, there would be a bouquet of gorgeous white and yellow lilies from him, no matter how many times she had performed the same set. There were none tonight, of all fucking nights. Her sadness quickly sizzled into flaming rage that she gladly nurse with images of a satisfying shout-fest that night, if she _did_ find him.

Grumbling, Scully stood up to change into her costume.

_Thud._

She froze in her spot. What the fuck was that?

_Thud._

Swirling around, she pinpointed the noise to be coming from her closet. The fine hair at the back of her neck stood up. _Of all places for the noise to come from, why the closet?_ her mind reeled. _Okay, Dana, be rational here, _she argued with herself. Her costume was in there. Damn it. Why did Jerry allow just about anyone backstage, anyway? How could she get her costume now? Should she call a staff? What if there was a rat in there? Were there rats in Vegas? She knew there were rats in New York and had been face-to-face with one during a rainy movie premiere back then … Scully shuddered. Mulder was there to shoo that damn rat away.

Mulder wasn't here today.

Taking a deep breath, Scully convinced herself that she was a strong, independent woman. She could take whatever was in the closet. She could take it with … she glanced around her dressing room, until she caught sight of an umbrella, wait, not enough, there, a vase. Haphazardly, she hauled all the flowers that came with the white vase and squeezed it into the next bouquet. She raised it high above her head, securing it firmly in her right hand's grip, and with one huge breath, approached the closet.

_Thud_.

_Bloody shit,_ Scully thought, her heart racing in her chest, _one …_

_ Thud._

_ Two …_

_ Thud. Thud._

_ Fucking three!_

The door swung open and in reflex, her hand swung at the figure she saw moving inside. Unfortunately, she miscalculated her aim and the vase hit the wall, splintering to a thousand pieces at her feet. Panicking, Scully moved backwards to find the umbrella, but was halted by a familiar, panicked voice:

"Scully! Scully! It's me! Damn, oww, it's me!"

She paused, a deadly relief washing over her like a tidal wave. The feeling was so strong she had to anchor herself on the boudoir, one hand settling on her chest to calm her heart down. When she was calm enough, she shouted all the rage she had been feeling just a minute ago:

"Mulder! What the fuck are you doing in there?"

There was her missing husband, standing up from the closet and steadying himself on the open door. He looked lost, like a child, with sunflower seed shells falling from his lap as he stood up. There were broken pieces of ceramics in his hair. He dusted his whole body (and expensive three-piece suit, she noticed), as he straightened up, then lifted a hand to swipe at the top of his ear. Blood.

Scully gasped, turning around to grab a tissue. "Are you hurt, love?" she demanded, voice quivering. She could feel the tears pushing through her eyes like wrecking balls. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't … I was looking …" The feeling of rage returned, strong, and it pushed her tears back to where they came from. "What the fuck are you doing in there?" she burst out, walking to him and removing his hand from his wound.

Her husband grimaced as she dabbed at the scratch. Inspecting it on tiptoes, she saw that it wasn't serious and it didn't seem to have even broken through much skin. Placing pressure on the wound, she waited for his answer, resisting the urge to tap her bare foot on the carpet while waiting.

"Surprise?" he weakly stated, gesturing at the bouquet of white and yellow lilies that were left in the closet.

Just like that, those damn wrecking ball tears were back.

"Jesus, Mulder, there's a better way to surprise me –"

"I wanted to! But I had to fix some things and Jerry told me you'll be dressing up in the next few hours, so …" he swiped at a tear that fell down her cheek. Shit, her makeup artist would definitely kill her. "Darling, I'm sorry." The fact that he ended the apology there meant that Mulder wasn't apologizing for the unexpected surprise/shock, he was apologizing for something deeper than that.

"Mulder … I'm sorry, too. For the vase and … I'm sorry for shutting up about the baby. I'm sorry for pushing for the baby when it's obviously putting stress on us. I just …" she swallowed the waterfall of emotions, mindful of her makeup and the expensive suit her husband was wearing, which she was about to stain, "… I really want another one."

He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the sides with lines that started appearing a couple of years ago. Scully loved those lines, even the strands of white on his hair or on his occasional five o'clock shadow. "Me too. I really want two more." That made her laugh. He continued, "But I don't like the pressure. Look at what it's doing to us – we're supposed to be enjoying Vegas, you know, good ole memories of us in that old apartment and, and practicing the script while you tortured me …"

Scully smacked him on his chest. He protested by pretending his head hurt, and she let herself fall for it by tiptoeing up to press a chaste kiss on his lips. Mulder snickered, "… and you brewed love potion to make me fall in love with you –"

"HEY!" That one earned him a pinch on his butt. Mulder waggled his eyebrows.

"Careful, darling, this _is_ Armani. What I mean is that … it's not everyday that we get the time to be with each other. Just _us _time, you know. I love it. I miss the kids, of course I do, and you do too, but this is a luxury we only get once every two or three years. I want to enjoy this luxury." Mulder drew forward, tucking the bloody tissue in his pocket. Before he could lean in for a kiss, she inspected the wound, made sure it wasn't bleeding anymore, and opened her mouth to his seeking lips. Their tongues mingled together, him tasting of salty sunflower seeds and sweet iced tea (his alternative to beer), and she probably tasted of granola bar and lipstick.

Soon, too soon, it was getting out of hand. Scully's fingers had found the zipper of his Armani slacks, sliding it down his half-mast erection, while his own hands were fumbling with the tight knot of her robe. Their lips crashed against each other, teeth grating, bites and nips, until his lips transferred to her chin.

"Wait, wait!" she pushed him away, catching her breath. Mulder raised his hands up, as if he was being arrested. Eyes were already dark green, a sure way of detecting his arousal and that there was no way they were stopping. Not that she wanted to, but hell, there had to be some reminders before nookie.

"Those were enough kisses. No more. Show's in two hours and the makeup artist will _murder _me if we mess my face up. It already IS messed up."

"I like it messed up. You're gorgeous messed up," Mulder panted. She ignored him.

"Your suit comes off, Mulder."

"I paid for this shit. No, wait, WB paid for this shit."

"Do you have another shit to wear for the show?"

"No."

"Then, off." He complied, shrugging off his jacket. His slacks came after, and while he was shimmying out of them, Scully crossed over to the door and locked it. Actually, double locked it. She didn't want to give the press outside anything else to talk about for the next couple of months.

When she returned to her husband, he was in his boxers, erection evident. That was when she laughed out loud.

"Holy fuck, did you really wear _that_?"

Suddenly, Mulder looked vulnerable in his infamous green-red boxers. The same green-red boxers she had teased him endlessly with the first time they were in Vegas.

"Nostalgia, Scully. Where's your sense of romanticism?"

Her giggles were reined, and in one long graceful ballerina-like stride, Scully was in front of him. "You turn me on when you talk Harvard," she whispered against the skin of his chest, dropping to her knees and pushing down his boxers to his ankles. His dick bobbed out, red and thick, making Scully lick her lips in anticipation. _Hello, Junior, I missed you_, she thought with satisfaction.

"I knew my degree was worth something … aaaaah," he gasped when she swallowed him whole until he pushed at the back of her throat. Scully wasn't in the mood for pretenses, for seduction, or even a lengthy foreplay. She wanted to take him, dominate her husband, to show him just how sorry she was. With a pop, she released his dick.

"Good?" she asked him, batting her bejeweled eyelashes innocently up at him. Sweaty Mulder nodded, lost for words. Satisfied by his non-reply, Scully returned to her task, taking him all the way – a feat that she practiced for years, for Mulder had a huge cock and it wasn't easy for her to deep throat. Eventually, she had learned to relax her muscles enough that she could do a sensational blowjob without choking. And he loved it. Goodness, he did – because he made those little grunts and gasps that would escalate into screams of her name when he was close. Sometimes, she let him fall. Sometimes, he wouldn't let himself fall.  
Scully sucked in her cheeks to give him a tighter penetration, then stilled her head, anchoring her hands on his perfect ass cheeks. She kneaded them, encouraging him to thrust into her mouth. Mulder did without hesitation, his hands settling on her coiffed hair. Alarmed, she swatted them off and Mulder lifted them as if electrocuted. Still thrusting into her, he placed his hands on her shoulders, which gave him good traction.

The sounds of his full-blown moans echoed in the tiny dressing room, ratcheting Scully's arousal. She could feel the sticky wetness in between her legs, but she ignored it for the meantime. Concentrating on his pleasure was what she wanted now.

"Jesus Christ, Scully, baby …" Mulder groaned, thrusting out of her mouth. His penis was throbbing red when she let go, with precum seeping out of its slit. Scully couldn't help herself – she licked its head clean, which made Mulder jump.

"Baby, stop. I'm about to explode. Give me a second here," he complained, placing a hand on his abdomen to collect himself. Scully smirked and loosened the knot of her robe. Obviously, Mulder wanted to do the honors but she did it herself, sliding the robe down to her feet and moving to the couch. It was surrounded by stray flowers, and some had fallen down the cushion, but these were ignored when Scully sat down and crossed her legs, demure. "Come here, Mulder," she invited, patting the space beside her.

Eagerly, Mulder jumped on the couch, dislodging some of the flowers even more. With a giggle, Scully mounted him, the couch still shaking from the aftershocks of his antics. He joined her laughter, his hands finding her thin waist and pushing her body close to his. They only stopped when her nipples fully brushed on his bare chest, and her wet heat was rubbing against his raging erection.

Mulder's eyes bulged, as if he had taken a bite out of the fruit of knowledge. "Scully –wait, there's something you need … oooooh, fuuuuck …" there went his thoughts, because lust had overtaken her body and she sank onto him, not even giving herself time to adjust to his girth.

"I want to fuck you," Scully whispered into his ear, effectively making Mulder forget what he needed to say. Her hips moved to their own accord, trapping his cock in her tight, wet heat. "Don't move. Let me do this."

"Yes, ma'am!" he throatily replied, the hands on her waist falling down to his sides. He held onto the loose covering of the cushions for dear life.

Scully placed a hand at Mulder's nape, effectively pinning his eyes to hers. "Watch me," she commanded him, and he nodded. She rode him fast and hard, up and down, then grinding against him when she felt him throb inside her. Mulder snaked his hand down to flick at her hardened bundle of nerves, but she held him down. "No," she sharply said, feeling the coiling in her belly as she continued riding him.

"Aaaah," he sighed, leaning forward and biting into her shoulder. That made her lose control. She began to piston against him, not caring if she was practically hauling the couch off the floor or that the flowers were shaken off their vases, falling down their sides like a rain of petals. One fell on Mulder's face and she giggled as she brushed it off. He grimaced, the laughter sending contractions down below where they were both so tender, and to abate the sensations, he disobeyed her and thrust up. Scully's mouth opened to form an O, before she surrendered to his movements.

Mulder picked up fast – he crushed Scully's body on his, their sweat mingling with each other. She wrapped her arms around him, making sure her face was not in danger of smudging. With a growl, Mulder bucked up, his fingers working her clit mercilessly, roughly. A jolt raced rom her head to her groin and Scully came, wailing into his ear, "I love you … this is soooo good, love youuuuu …."

Mulder echoed the sentiments, whispering, "Love you back," before he came with a guttural shout. He emptied himself in her, his throbbing a wonderful massage to her still-convulsing inner muscles. They stayed that way for a few minutes, their breaths stilling ... until a stray vase behind them couldn't hold anymore and it fell to the floor with a loud _crack_!

"God, we need tissue," Scully giggled again, her breath hot on her husband's neck. She was unwilling to move despite feeling him softening inside her, knowing the mess that was about to happen if she did. Mulder looked around them, found his red-green boxers, and offered it to her. The giggle became a full-blown cackle.

"Hey, better than nothing!"

_Knock. Knock._

Scully's body stiffened, as her husband smacked a palm on his forehead. "I was trying to tell you –" he trailed off. She squeezed his shoulders and glared at him. Mulder sighed, inching her off his lap. "I was trying to tell you the _other _half of my surprise."

"Which is?" she piped up as she slid off him, wiped herself with those damned red-green boxers, and ran to where her robe was. She shoved the boxers in her bag. The knocking on the dressing room door grew frantic, with smaller knocks that were too familiar …

Mulder was scrambling with his clothing, carefully zipping his slacks up since he was going commando. "I brought the children here. They're here to watch you perform."

"_All_ of them here?" Scully tightened her robe around her, facing the mirror and dabbing with tissue all the spots that were smudged or tainted. Her lips, in particular, was a spectacular kaleidoscopic mess, so she removed all her lipstick and sent a silent prayer above to make her death by the makeup artist quick and clean.

"All of them. And Mom. Emily wanted to come but she's pregnant so …" Mulder buttoned his suit, looking as suave and handsome as ever. Feeling as if she was also somewhat presentable, Scully stood up and faced him. They glanced at the mess they've created and shrugged, so Mulder skipped to the door and opened it. Soon, they were invaded by four precious tots: nine-year-old William who was dressed up in a suit similar to his father's and was taking the lead to hug her with their eight-year-old Margaret who was impeccably gorgeous in her glittering golden dress. Six-year-old Missy was prancing around in a midriff baring metallic silver dress that made Scully raise an eyebrow at her husband (as if to ask, _who allowed her to wear that?_), while five-year-old John shuffled shyly behind his brother and sisters in a crisp white polo shirt and tie. They were all holding lilies that they handed to Scully one-by-one, and which she received by bending down on her knees and giving each a tight hug.

"Oh, my babies," Scully soughed, feeling the happiness fill her to the brim. John buried himself in her arms while William, ever the big brother, inspected the smashed vase in the closet. The two girls ran to their father and started bouncing on the couch, delighted by the smattering of flowers there.

"Mulder, you're encouraging them!" she scolded, holding John close. She got up on her feet to meet her mother-in-law. "Mum!" Scully greeted, reaching over to plant two kisses on Teena's cheeks and a warm embrace. She loved her husband's mother beyond belief and having her around for the last show was a tremendous confidence booster.

"Your husband said you'd like to have us here with you for your last night. I really wanted to go, but was just waiting for a free ticket –" Teena winked. From the couch, Mulder said, "Care of WB!" before he was flanked by the two sniggering girls.

William picked up the bouquet of lilies in the closet. "What happened here, Mum?" he inquired in his wistful way. Scully eyed Mulder, Mulder eyed her back, and their gaze didn't surprise Teena, who sat down the boudoir's chair to watch the parents grope the air for an explanation.

"Uhh, your Dad sort of surprised me –"

"or I shocked your Mum –"

"and I sort of protected myself with a vase –"

"… your Mum sure knew how to use that vase –"

"But we're all fine now!" she happily ended, getting an approving glance from her husband. William scratched his head for a minute, not really getting their explanation, but instead placed the bouquet together with the other flowers. That was when he stepped on the cracked vase and Mulder ushered him away from it.

"What happened here?" Teena declared worriedly. The couple once more shared a glance, and within that passing second, the grandmother knew what she needed to. "Jesus Christ, you two jackrabbits get a grip sometimes," she mock-scolded, a smile hiding beneath her words.

"Mom, I have the hottest wife in the world – People Magazine said so last year! What did the magazine with Mummy say last year, baby?" Mulder placed an arm around Margaret and drew her in for a hug. The girl raised her arms up in the air: "Mummy's the Most Beautiful in the World!" Mulder kissed the top of Margaret's head, and of course Missy wouldn't be left out of it, so he also kissed her hair. William sat down beside Margaret and placed flowers in his sister's crowning glory, just to annoy her. "See? How can I resist the Most Beautiful in the World, Mom?" her husband tried, to which Scully rolled her eyes.

"But you're just Mum," John squeaked in her arms. Scully stared down and nodded at her quiet boy. "Yes, John. I'm just Mum," she agreed.

"The most beautiful Mum in the world," Mulder interjected, unable to quit as always, with William on his lap trying hard to avoid the playful swats of Margaret.

There was a knock on the dressing room door and without preamble, her makeup artist and costume designer entered. Upon seeing her disheveled face, the makeup artist glared at her first, then at her husband. Mulder feigned innocence with a wicked, handsome smile. The costume designer tsk-tsked at the broken vase near the closet, but hopped over it to reach the costume.

"Okay, everyone, time to go out. Mummy's about to get ready. I'll see you after the show!" Scully declared, lest she raised the ire of her glam squad. Each of her children hugged and kissed her, whispering "good luck" in her ear as they left. Teena also kissed both of her cheeks, then followed after her grandchildren. When it was Mulder's turn, they chastely kissed under the watchful eyes of her glam squad, and with an "I'll see you later," left.

* * *

**Two months later and still in Vegas …**

"Hmpff," Mulder groaned, the sunlight harsh on his still-sleepy eyes.

"Good morning, Dad!" small voices declared. He shook his head into the pillow and grabbed the pillow opposite him, draping it over his face.

"C'mon, Daddy, we have something for you!" William's unmistakable voice pleaded, before he crashed on his father's body with a loud "oof!"

Wait, what? Where was his wife?

Mulder sat up quickly like an uncoiled spring, making William slide onto the empty space beside him. He glanced around the room, spots of white invading his vision, searching for Scully. She couldn't have gone out already, could she? And she didn't tell him that she was going out last night, too.  
He assessed the children in front of him, who were grinning at him like excited little imps. They were all in their pyjamas, with Missy twirling around in her princess-like sleepshirt. Margaret had her glasses on, sitting on the bedside table's chair with John, who was clutching his elder sister with a sleepy grip.

"William, where's your Mum?"

"She has a surprise for you …" his son teased. Mulder laughed, not helping himself, and he reached over to ruffle his red hair.

A month after they had returned home from Scully's successful show in the _Folies Bergere_, the premiere of Mulder's latest movie was moved to Las Vegas, rather than in Los Angeles. It definitely wasn't in their schedule to fly to Vegas for the month of May, but Mulder acquiesced since Scully had free time and the children had begun their summer vacation. So, he packed everyone in for the three days he was required to stay in Vegas.

Anyway, there were many, many good memories in Sin City. Plus, he loved cozying up in the Four Queens.

But where was his wife?

As if she read his mind, Scully appeared in the room, carrying chocolate cake with a candle atop. Mulder pushed himself up the bed, with William draping his arms around his torso. Missy jumped up and down the carpeted floors, crying, "I baked that! I baked that!" while waving her little magic wand around.

"Scully, it isn't my birthday!" he said, chuckling. She had a mysterious smile on, with her makeup-free face glowing and her curly hair up in a neat bun. Sitting down at the foot of his bed, she gently laid the cake on Mulder's lap.

"Read what's on it!" William urged him. He peered down at the cake and his eyes widened:

_Baby # 5_

"No way? Really?" he asked in awe, staring up at his wife. Vaguely, he registered William leaning in to blow the candle.

Scully nodded, her cheeks blushing, while their children started clapping. "By my counting, I'm two months pregnant." She grinned. "That was one lucky visit you paid me at my dressing room."

"Seriously?" he still asked, flabbergasted. He couldn't believe it. They had been trying for a baby since October … and all it took was make up sex?

"Yes, serious. Chocolate cake serious," Scully assured him, sitting down closer to where he was. She reached over the bedside table, where small plates and forks were ready for their impromptu feast. "Since Missy did such a good job baking our baby # 5 cake this morning, we can skip our healthy breakfast and have _this_ for breakfast instead." Scully winked at Mulder, and he nodded to assure her that it was indeed a time for celebration.

The children all whooped happily. Mulder saw the window of opportunity and drew his wife close enough for a lingering kiss on her lips. "As they say, Scully, when in Vegas …"

She kissed him back, a quick peck on the side of his mouth, then threw her head back to laugh with her trademark string of _ha-ha-ha_s. "Viva Las Vegas!" she cheerfully agreed, as the children all gathered around the bed and Mulder shook his head, remembering that song's significance all too well.

_Viva Las Vegas indeed_.

* * *

**THE END**

* * *

**C/N: **Thank you so much, dear readers. This was quite a ride: from 1999 to 2016. Amazing. All thanks to each and every one of you! Lilies, yellow and white, for you all! _Bravo!_


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